II     1 

H  ill 


mi  i 


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Sec 
2?S5 


BACCALAUREATE 


SERMONS 


OCCASIONAL    DISCOURSES 


MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D 

PRESIDENT   OF  WILLIAMS   COLLEGE. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS   OF   T.   R.   MARVIN  &  SON,   42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
18  65. 


CONTENTS. 


Baccalaureate  Sermons  : 

1850.  Faith,  Philosophy,  and  Reason. 

1851.  Strength  and  Beauty. 

1852.  Receiving  and  Giving. 
1S55.  Perfect  Love. 

1856.  Self-Denial. 

1857.  Higher  and  Lower  Good. 

1858.  Eagles'  Wings. 

L859.  The  Manifoldness  of  Man. 

I860.  Nothing  to  be  Lost. 

1862.  The  Living  House,  or  God's  Method  of  Social  Unity. 

L863.  Enlargement. 

ls(i4.  ( 'hoice  and  Service. 

Address  before  the  Society  for  Promoting  Collegiate  Education  at 
the  West. 

Discourse  commemorative  <>f  Amos  Lawrence. 

Discourse  before  the  Congregational  Library  Association. — God's 
Provisions  and  Man's  Perversions. 

Missionary  Sermon.— The  Promise  to  Abraham. 

Sermon    at    the    Dedication  of   the    New    Chapel,    connected    with 
Williams  College. — Religious  Teaching  and  Worship. 

Discourse  commemorative  of  Nathan  Jackson. 


^vV  w  r«/^ 


>  195; 


FAITH,    PHILOSOPHY,    AND     REASON 


81* 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,    MS. 


AUGUST    18,    18-50. 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.D 

President  of  Williams  College. 


SECOND      EDITION. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  11.  MARVIN   &    SON,    42   CONGRESS   STREET. 

18  5  9. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850, 

By  T.  It.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


HEBREWS  XI.  33,  34. 

WHO  THROUGH  FAITH  SUBDUED  KINGDOMS,  WROUGHT  RIGHTEOUSNESS, 
OBTAINED  PROMISES,  STOPPED  THE  MOUTHS  OF  LIONS,  QUENCHED  THE 
TIOLENCE  OF  FIRE,  ESCAPED  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  SWORD,  OUT  OF  WEAK- 
NESS WERE  MADE  STRONG,  WAXED  VALIANT  IN  FIGHT,  TURNED  TO 
FLIGHT   THE   ARMIES    OF  THE  ALIENS. 

The  word  '  hero,'  does  not  occur  in  the  Bible.  Nothing 
can  be  more  opposite  to  its  spirit  than  that  self-sufficiency, 
and  recklessness  of  human  rights  and  sufferings,  which  are 
commonly  associated  with  this  term.  Still,  there  are  no 
higher  examples  of  a  true  heroism  than  the  Bible  presents. 
In  the  text,  and  the  chapter  from  which  it  is  taken,  we  have 
an  account  of  great  and  heroic  exploits,  performed  indeed  in 
ancient  times,  but  such  as  we  should  be  glad  to  see  emulated, 
such  as  ought  to  be  emulated  in  the  midst  of  the  light  and 
advantages  of  our  day.  We  have  a  right  to  expect,  as  the 
stream  of  time  rolls  on  and  pours  its  accumulated  wealth  at 
the  feet  of  new  generations,  that  there  shall  not  only  be  an 
increase  in  the  knowledge  of  nature,  but  that  there  shall  be, 
at  least,  no  failure  in  the  breadth  and  compass  of  a  compre- 
hensive wisdom,  or  in  the  might  of  a  true  manhood  that  is 
ready  to  do  and  to  suffer  in  the  cause  of  humanity  and  of 
God. 

But  not  only  may  we  expect  this  ;  it  is  also  intimated  by 
the  Apostle  that  it  is  expected  and  watched  for  by  those  who 


1 


have  gone  before  us.  He  represents,  in  the  opening  of  the 
succeeding  chapter,  those  worthies  and  veterans  who  had 
finished  their  own  course,  as  gathered  into  a  vast  assembly, 
forming  "  a  cloud  of  witnesses,"  and  watching  with  intense 
interest  the  bearing  of  those  who  follow  them.  "  Seeing 
then,"  says  he,  "  that  we  are  compassed  about  with  so  great 
a  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  run  with  patience  the  race  that  is 
set  before  us." 

This  race,  my  friends  of  the  Graduating  Class,  I  would 
now  invite  you  to  run.  You  are  especially  called  upon  to 
emulate  the  example  of  the  great  and  good, — to  do  deeds 
that  shall  not  only  cause  joy  on  earth,  but  shall  send  a  new 
thrill  through  the  vast  assembly  of  those  who  have  gone 
before  you. 

But  if  you  are  to  do  the  deeds  of  these  ancient  heroes, 
you  must  be  girded  with  the  same  armor,  be  controlled  by 
the  same  principle,  must  have  the  same  prize  in  your  eye, 
and  be  sustained  by  the  same  power.  Fruitful  as  the  nine- 
teenth century  has  been  in  inventions,  it  yet  furnishes  none 
for  making  great  and  good  men.  The  great  tree  must  grow 
now  from  the  same  earth,  and  under  the  same  sun,  and  by 
the  same  processes  and  ministrations  of  dew  and  rain  and 
storms,  as  the  great  tree  of  old  ;  and  so,  now,  as  of  old,  must 
the  life  and  might  of  true  greatness  be  drawn  from  the  same 
fountains,  and  work  themselves  out  by  essentially  the  same 
processes.  Were  these  deeds  performed  of  old  only  by 
faith  ?  then  only  by  faith  will  they  be  performed  now. 

What  then  is  Faith  ?  Avowed  by  Christianity  as  its  pecu- 
liar principle  of  action,  ridiculed  by  the  philosophers,  is  it 
indeed  some  new,  or  peculiar,  or  blind,  or  fanatical  prin- 
ciple ?  Or  is  it  one  of  those  grand  and  universal  principles 
which  underlie  human  action,  which  are  necessary  to  true 
heroism,  to  a  right  philosophy,  to  individual  and  social  per- 
fection, and  which  must,  in  the  progress  of  light,  come  more 


and  more  into  distinct  recognition  and  general  acknowledg- 
ment ? 

Whatever  faith  may  be,  it  must  be  conceded  that  the 
accounts  given  of  it  by  its  advocates  have  been  neither  uni- 
form nor  consistent.  It  has  been  said  to  be  simple  belief, 
founded  on  evidence,  and  not  differing  from  any  other  belief; 
to  be  belief  in  testimony  ;  to  be  belief  for  reasons  not  derived 
from  intrinsic  evidence  ;  to  be  a  belief  on  the  ground  of  prob- 
able, as  distinguished  from  demonstrative  evidence ;  to  be  a 
belief  in  things  invisible  and  supernatural ;  to  be  a  trust ; 
and  more  recently,  and  transcendentally,  it  has  been  said  to 
be  an  organ  of  the  soul  by  which  it  becomes  cognizant  of  the 
invisible  and  the  supernatural. 

To  some,  this  diversity  of  statement  may  seem  to  indicate 
that  there  can  be  nothing  in  faith  very  definite  or  important. 
To  me  it  indicates  the  reverse  ;  for  while  men  do  certainly 
differ  about  things  which  are  indefinite  and  obscure,  yet  it  is 
also  found  that  they  come  latest,  if  at  all,  to  the  investigation 
of  those  principles  which  are  the  most  intimate  and  essential, 
and  that  they  are  nowhere  less  likely  to  come  to  a  uniform 
and  satisfactory  result.  As  in  mathematics  the  truths  that 
are  most  nearly  intuitive  are  the  last  and  the  most  difficult  to 
be  demonstrated,  so  here  the  principles  and  processes  which 
are  so  essential  that  they  seem  inwoven  into  our  being,  are 
the  last  to  be  investigated  and  the  most  difficult  to  be  satis- 
factorily explained.  Men  are  no  better  agreed  what  reason 
is,  or  what  personal  identity  consists  in,  than  they  are  what 
faith  is  ;  and  yet,  as  those  who  think  wrongly  on  these  sub- 
jects may,  and  do,  exercise  their  reason,  and  continue  the 
same  persons  precisely  as  they  would  if  they  thought  rightly, 
so  those  who  make  different  statements  in  regard  to  faith,  all 
exercise  faith,  and  receive  the  benefits  of  faith,  in  precisely 
the  same  way. 

That  the  term  faith  may  not  be  used  loosely  and  popularly, 


6 

to  designate  the  ideas  just  mentioned,  and  also  others,  I  would 
not  say ;  but  the  inquiry  now  is,  What,  generically,  and  spe- 
cifically, is  that  Faith  upon  which  the  Bible  insists  as  essen- 
tial to  salvation,  and  by  which  the  great  deeds  it  records  were 
performed  ?  Can  this  faith  be  so  defined  that  our  idea  of  it 
shall  be  distinct,  that  it  shall  harmonize  with  philosophy  and 
with  reason,  and  that  it  shall  be  adequate  to  the  great  offices 
assigned  to  it  in  the  Bible  ? 

I  propose  in  the  following  Discourse,  first,  to  answer  these 
inquiries  ;  and  secondly,  to  speak  of  the  offices  of  faith — 
more  particularly,  as  adapted  to  this  occasion,  of  its  office  as 
a  principle  of  action  to  be  adopted  by  every  young  man. 

The  generic  definition  of  faith  which  I  would  propose,  is, 
that  it  is  confidence  in  a  personal  being.  Faith  lives  and 
moves  and  has  its  being  only  in  the  region  of  personality. 
Whatever  we  may  believe  respecting  things  visible  or  invisi- 
ble, on  any  other  ground  than  our  confidence  in  a  personal 
being,  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  faith.  It  implies  the 
recognition  of  a  moral  nature,  and  a  conviction  of  the  trust- 
worthiness of  the  being  possessed  of  such  a  nature. 

This  definition  of  faith  implies  a  division  of  this  universe 
into  two  departments,  that  of  persons,  and  that  of  things ; 
and,  in  connection  with  this  division,  will  give  us  a  clear 
distinction  between  philosophy  and  faith.  The  sphere  of 
faith  is  the  region  of  personality,  that  of  philosophy  is  the 
region  of  things.  Each  of  these  spheres  addresses  our  sen- 
sibilities and  calls  for  investigation,  but  in  accordance  with 
its  own  nature  and  laws. 

By  things,  are  called  forth  in  the  region  of  sensibility,  the 
emotions  of  beauty,  of  sublimity,  and  of  admiration ;  by 
persons,  in  addition  to  these,  confidence,  affection,  passion. 

In  her  investigations  in  the  department  of  things,  philoso- 
phy is  concerned,  not  with  all  knowledge,  but  chiefly  with 


resemblances  in  those  things  that  exist  together,  and  with 
uniformities  in  those  that  exist  in  succession.  These  are  the 
basis  of  all  classification,  of  all  inductive  reasoning — and  it 
is  through  these  that  we  get  all  our  ideas  of  physical  order 
and  law. 

Philosophy  presupposes  a  knowledge  of  things  as  they 
exist  separately.  This  being  given,  she  neglects  all  individual 
peculiarities,  and  proceeds  to  group  them  according  to  their 
resemblances,  and  to  give  them  collective  names.  In  doing 
this  she  acquires  for  man  power,  and  practical  guidance, 
because  a  resemblance  in  external  signs  denotes  a  resemblance 
in  essential  properties.  This  gives  value  to  the  signs  of 
nature,  and  shows  that  in  the  department  of  resemblances 
she  is  constituted  on  the  basis  of  truth. 

But  not  only  does  philosophy  notice  resemblances  in  beings 
and  phenomena  that  exist  together,  she  also  notices  uniform- 
ity of  succession  ;  and  is  thus  enabled  to  foretell  the  future, 
and  to  act  wisely  with  reference  to  it.  She  believes  in  a  uni- 
formity of  succession  according  to  the  order  that  is  established. 
She  investigates  the  laws  in  accordance  with  which  this 
succession  moves  on.  As  among  things  that  exist  together, 
she  knows  nothing  of  individual  peculiarities,  so  in  phenom- 
ena that  exist  in  succession,  she  knows  nothing  of  exceptions, 
and  admits  with  great  reluctance,  or  not  at  all,  that  such 
exceptions  really  exist. 

Such,  except  as  she  may  be  said  to  investigate  causes,  is 
philosophy.  She  stands  in  the  centre  of  tilings  that  co-exist, 
and  passes  onward  and  outward  to  the  farthest  star,  stepping 
more  or  less  firmly  as  the  resemblances,  by  which  alone  she 
proceeds,  are  more  or  less  perfect ;  she  stands  at  the  present 
point  in  things  that  succeed  each  other,  and  binds  the  future 
to  the  past  by  what  she  conceives  to  be  an  inexorable  law. 

But  it  may  be  inquired  whether  philosophy  does  not 
extend  to  the   domain  of  mind.     Yes,  so   far  as   mind  is  a 


8 

thing,  and  hence  under  the  law  of  an  absolute  uniformity, 
but  no  farther.  The  moment  a  personal  being  is  placed 
under  that  law  of  nature  by  which  that  which  follows  is 
necessarily  the  product  of  that  which  precedes,  personality 
ceases,  and  you  have  mere  nature — a  thing.  The  very  idea 
of  that  necessary  uniformity  upon  which  philosophy  is  based, 
precludes  that  of  personality.  It  also  precludes  the  idea 
of  faith ;  for  whatever  we  may  believe  without  the  range 
of  personality,  and  on  whatever  grounds,  there  is  always 
wanting  that  element  which  enters  into  faith  by  which  a 
person  may  be  said  not  only  to  have  confidence,  but  to  be 
confiding. 

The  sphere  of  faith,  as  opposed  to  that  of  philosophy,  is, 
as  I  have  said,  the  region  of  personality.  Here  we  find 
affections,  and  a  moral  nature,  and  a  free-will.  In  the  sphere 
of  things  we  deal  with  similarities,  and  uniformities  of  suc- 
cession, and  laws,  and  do  not  necessarily  know  anything 
back  of  these.  We  may  indeed  refer  them  all  to  a  personal 
agent,  but  for  the  grounds  of  our  belief  we  are  not  necessi- 
tated to  go  beyond  the  uniformities  and  laws  themselves. 
We  have  in  these  nothing  of  the  great  element  of  character. 
But  in  our  dealings  with  personal  beings,  whatever  ground 
we  may  have  for  belief,  either  of  what  they  say,  or  of  what 
they  will  do,  must  be  found,  not  in  any  law,  not  in  any 
unvarying  uniformity  conceived  of  as  necessary,  but  in  the 
character  of  the  personal  being.  This  is  an  element  entirely 
different  from  any  found  in  the  sphere  of  philosophy,  and  it 
is  upon  this  that  faith  fixes.  This  is  the  grand  peculiarity  of 
faith ;  it  is  confidence  in  a  personal  being.  Like  belief,  it 
admits  of  degrees.  As  the  highest  form  of  belief  is  cer- 
tainty, so  the  highest  form  of  faith  is  such  a  confidence  in 
the  character  of  any  being  as  will  lead  us  to  believe  what- 
ever he  may  say  because  he  says  it,  and  to  commit  implicitly 
into  his  hands  every  interest  of  our  being. 


9 

And  as  that  without  us  which  calls  forth  faith,  is  so  differ- 
ent from  that  which  is  the  basis  of  philosophy,  so,  it  may  be 
remarked,  is  that  within  us  which  is  brought  into  action  also 
different.  Doubtless  the  nature  of  man  is  preconformed  to 
the  state  into  which  he  is  to  come,  and  as  he  naturally  con- 
forms himself  to  the  uniformities  of  nature,  so  does  he, 
though  by  a  different  principle,  naturally  confide  in  those  to 
whom  his  being  is  intrusted.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
that  feeling  of  confidence  with  which  the  infant  looks  up 
into  the  eye  of  its  mother,  with  which  the  new  formed  angel 
must  look  up  to  his  God,  is  the  same  as  that  by  which  he  is 
adapted  to  the  blind  and  unvarying  movements  of  nature. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  as  these  two  great  spheres  of  per- 
sons and  of  things  are  so  distinct,  that  our  nature  should  not 
be  equally  preconformed  to  each. 

If  the  spheres  of  faith  and  of  philosophy  be  thus  distinct, 
it  will  be  obvious  that  they  can  come  into  conflict  only  at  a 
single  point.  A  personal  being  may  make  assertions  about 
facts  that  lie  within  the  domain  of  philosophy,  and  these 
assertions  may  seem  to  conflict,  and  may  conflict,  with  evi- 
dence respecting  those  same  facts  derived  from  philosophy. 
But  in  such  a  case  man  is  not  left  to  the  alternative  of  a 
blind  faith  or  a  presumptuous  philosophy.  His  reason  is  to 
decide.  By  this  he  is  to  ascertain,  on  the  one  side,  that  a 
personal  being  has  spoken,  what  he  has  said,  what  means  he 
had  of  knowing  the  truth,  and  what  confidence  is  to  be 
placed  in  his  character.  On  the  other  side,  he  is  to  inquire 
whether  he  knows  all  the  facts  and  their  relations,  and  is 
sure  of  his  inferences.  If,  after  this,  there  shall  seem  to  be 
a  conflict,  or  a  contradiction,  reason  must  strike  the  balance, 
and  say  whether,  under  the  circumstances,  it  is  more  rational 
to  put  confidence  in  a  personal  being,  or  to  believe  in  facts 
and  deductions  for  which  we  have  another  species  of  evi- 
dence. Reason  recognizes  both  these  grounds  of  belief ;  and 
2 


10 

she,  and  she  only,  can  decide  in  cases  of  apparent  conflict 
between  them. 

Having  thus  considered  the  relations  of  faith  and  philos- 
ophy, let  us  now  look  at  those  of  faith  and  reason. 

It  is  strange  with  what  pertinacity  the  opponents  of  Chris- 
tianity have  insisted  that  there  is,  and  must  be,  a  conflict 
between  these  ;  and  how  readily  many  advocates  of  Chris- 
tianity have  assented  to  this  view.  So  far  has  this  been  car- 
ried, that  a  recent  and  much-lauded  article  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review  is  entitled,  "  Reason  and  Faith ;  their  claims  and 
conflicts."  But  such  conflict  is  by  no  means  to  be  admitted. 
There  is  just  as  much  opposition  between  reason  and  faith, 
as  there  is  between  reason  and  philosophy,  and  no  more. 

If  we  regard  reason  as  giving  us  only  intuitive  and  neces- 
sary truths,  then  it  will  act  equally  in  the  domain  of  philos- 
ophy and  of  faith,  and  there  can  be  no  opposition  between 
either  of  them  ;  unless,  indeed,  a  personal  being  should 
assert  an  absurdity.  But  if,  as  is  more  common,  we  regard 
reason  as  comprising  what  is  rational  in  man, — those  high 
attributes  by  which  he  is  distinguished  from  the  brutes,  and 
which  must  enter  into,  and  preside  over,  every  legitimate 
act  and  process  of  the  mind, — then,  the  sphere  of  faith  and 
philosophy  being  different,  there  can  be  no  conflict  between 
reason  as  employed  in  the  sphere  of  philosophy,  and  as 
employed  in  the  sphere  of  faith.  Reason  presides  over 
both  spheres,  and  can  therefore  be  in  conflict  with  neither. 
The  only  possible  question  is,  whether  we  may,  in  any 
case,  just  as  rationally  reach  conclusions  and  grounds  of 
action  by  that  process  which  we  call  faith,  as  we  can  by  that 
which  we  call  philosophy.  But  on  this  point  there  can  be 
no  question.  We  act  as  necessarily  and  as  legitimately  with 
reference  to  personal  beings  by  faith,  as  we  do  in  reference 
to  things  by  a  belief  in  the  uniformity  of  nature.     It  is  just 


11 

as  rational  for  a  man  to  have  confidence  in  the  character  and 
consequently  in  the  word  of  a  personal  being,  as  it  is  for  him 
to  believe  in  the  facts  of  observation  or  experience  or  in  those 
forms  and  systems  of  knowledge  deduced  from  these  which 
are  called  philosophy.  It  may,  perhaps,  be  found  to  be  quite 
as  reasonable  to  believe  a  fact  because  it  is  asserted  by  God, 
as  to  believe  one  because  it  is  inferred  by  ourselves,  or  even 
as  to  believe  a  fact  made  known  to  us  by  those  senses  which 
God  has  given  us. 

Is  there  not  then  such  a  thing  as  faith  that  is  not  in 
accordance  with  reason  ?  Certainly,  just  as  there  are  infer- 
ences and  philosophies  that  are  not  in  accordance  with  rea- 
son, and  perhaps  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  there 
has  been  more  folly  and  absurdity  under  the  name  of  faith 
or  of  philosophy.  My  reason  tells  me  that  I  may  confide 
in  the  facts  given  me  by  my  senses,  that  I  may  classify  these, 
and  build  up  a  system  of  knowledge  which  we  call  philoso- 
phy. Under  this  impression,  men  have  built  up  systems  of 
philosophy  which  we  can  now  see  were  exceedingly  irra- 
tional and  foolish,  but  this  does  not  show  that  there  is  any 
conflict  between  reason  and  philosophy ;  but  only  that  reason 
is  not  infallible  in  this  department.  My  reason  also,  all  that 
is  rational  within  me,  tells  me  that  I  may,  and  ought,  some- 
times to  confide  in  personal  beings,  and  that  such  confidence 
is  a  rational  and  sufficient  ground  of  knowledge  and  of 
action.  We  may,  indeed,  here  repose  confidence  where  we 
ought  not,  and  receive  irrational  dogmas,  and  submit  to 
useless  or  ridiculous  rites ;  but  this  would  only  show  that 
reason  is  not  infallible  in  this  department. 

So  far  then  from  separating  faith  from  reason  and  bringing 
them  into  possible  and  actual  conflict,  we  would  say  that  the 
sphere  of  faith  is  one  of  the  two  great  spheres  over  which 
reason  presides,  and  that  faith  itself  is  one  of  the  great  and 
indispensable  methods  in  which  reason  is  manifested.     It  is 


12 

a  libel  upon  religion  to  say  that  it  requires  a  blind  faith,  or 
any  other  than  a  rational  faith,  or  that  it  requires  us  to 
believe  any  thing  which  it  is  not  more  rational  to  believe 
than  it  would  be  to  disbelieve  it.  There  is  no  tendency  in 
faith  to  a  blind  belief.  It  does  not  say,  and  has  no  ten- 
dency to  say,  '  I  believe  because  it  is  impossible.'  That  is 
mere  Quixotism  and  folly.  Faith  may,  indeed,  take  hold  of 
the  hand  of  a  father,  and  be  willing  to  step  where  it  does  not 
see  ;  but  then  she  is  willing  thus  to  step,  only  because  she 
has  a  rational  ground  for  believing  that  her  father  will  lead 
her  right.  Christianity  discards  and  repudiates  altogether, 
any  faith  that  can  come  into  conflict  with  reason. 

This  view  of  faith  gives  it  a  definite  sphere,  it  shows  dis- 
tinctly its  relations  both  to  philosophy  and  to  reason,  and 
removes  from  it  all  that  mysterious  or  mystical  appearance 
which  has  sometimes  been  thrown  around  religious  faith. 
As  an  exercise  of  the  mind  it  is,  generically,  no  way  different 
from  that  to  which  we  are  constantly  accustomed.  When  a 
child  follows  implicitly  the  directions  of  its  father,  when  a 
client  puts  his  case  into  the  hands  of  an  advocate,  there  is 
an  element  in  the  act  that  is  different  from  simple  belief,  it 
is  an  element  that  puts  honor  upon  the  father  and  the  advo- 
cate. This  is  faith.  Faith,  then,  generically,  is  confidence 
in  a  personal  being.  Specifically,  religious  faith  is  confidence 
in  God,  in  every  aspect  and  office  in  which  he  reveals  him- 
self. As  that  love  of  which  God  is  the  object,  is  religious 
love,  so  that  confidence  in  Him  as  a  Father,  a  Moral  Gov- 
ernor, a  Redeemer,  a  Sanctifier,  in  all  the  modes  of  his  mani- 
festation, by  which  we  believe  whatever  he  says  because  he 
says  it,  and  commit  ourselves  and  all  our  interests  cheerfully 
and  entirely  into  his  hands,  is  religious  faith.  Surely  there 
is  in  this,  nothing  irrational,  or  hard  to  be  understood. 

The  distinctive  element  of  faith,  then,  is  not  belief,  but  it 
is  confidence  from  that  perception  and  appreciation  of  moral 


13 

character  upon  which  the  belief  is  based.  Involved  in  this 
there  must  always  be  a  belief  of  the  trustworthiness  of  the 
object  of  our  faith.  Hence,  if  faith  were  perfect,  it  would 
involve,  not  merely  a  belief  in  testimony,  but  an  obedience 
like  that  of  Abraham.  In  his  case  there  was  simply  a  com- 
mand, and  strictly  no  testimony  ;  yet  the  faith  was  perfect. 

It  is  this  complex  nature  of  faith  that  has  caused  the  con- 
fusion respecting  it.  It  does  imply  a  movement  of  both  the 
rational  and  the  emotive  nature.  In  this,  sometimes  the  one, 
and  sometimes  the  other  may  predominate,  but  it  is  never 
due  either  to  the  intellect  simply,  or  to  the  feelings  simply. 
When  outward  appearances,  as  in  the  case  of  Abraham,  are 
opposed  to  the  dictates  of  faith,  it  will  be  an  affectionate 
confidence.  When  there  is  no  such  opposition,  it  will  be  a 
confiding  affection  in  which  the  confidence  may  seem  to  be 
entirely  absorbed  and  transfigured  into  love.  The  belief 
involved  in  faith,  is  based  on  those  very  qualities  which 
necessarily  call  forth  emotion  or  affection  ;  and  hence,  in  this 
act,  the  two  are  fused  and  inseparably  blended.  Hence  too 
the  moral  element  in  faith,  which  is  not  necessarily  in  mere 
belief,  and  hence  its  power  as  a  principle  of  action.  Nor  is 
there  any  thing  strange  or  anomalous  in  this.  Pity  is  a  com- 
plex act,  consisting  of  sympathy  for  distress  and  a  desire  to 
relieve  it.  These  may  exist  in  different  proportions,  but  if 
either  be  wanting  there  is  no  pity  ,•  and  yet  no  one  finds  any 
difficulty  in  understanding  what  pity  is. 

Having  thus  considered  the  nature  of  faith,  we  now  pro- 
ceed to  its  offices. 

Of  faith  in  general,  the  great  office  is  to  underlie  all  the 
social  intercourse  of  personal  beings.  It  is  to  this  higher 
and  distinct  sphere  of  personal  intercourse,  what  a  belief  in 
the  uniformity  of  nature  is  in  our  intercourse  with  nature. 
Without  confidence   society  is   impossible.     It  is  the  great 


u 


element  and  condition  of  social  prosperity  and  happiness. 
Universally  it  will  be  found  that  all  the  ends  of  society  are 
reached,  in  proportion  as  there  is  mutual  confidence  between 
husbands  and  wives,  parents  and  children,  rulers  and  sub- 
jects, buyers  and  sellers,  friends  and  neighbors.  Kemove  but 
the  single  element  of  distrust,  and  who  does  not  see  that  the 
great  cause  of  human  wretchedness  would  be  taken  away. 
Let  but  the  one  element  of  a  general  and  perfect  confidence 
be  poured  into  the  now  heaving  mass  of  human  society,  and 
its  agitations  would  subside,  and  it  would  be  at  once  aggre- 
gated and  crystalized  into  its  most  perfect  forms.  In  connec- 
tion with  this,  every  form  of  human  attachment  would  strike 
deep  root,  every  mutual  affinity  would  have  free  play,  and 
every  capacity  of  man  for  happiness  from  intercourse  with 
his  fellow-men  would  be  filled. 

Of  the  more  specific  offices  of  religious  faith  we  will  first 
consider  that,  so  much  insisted  on  in  the  Scriptures,  by  which 
it  accepts  a  gratuitous  salvation.  From  the  nature  of  faith  as 
now  stated,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  its  relation  to  such  a  salva- 
tion is  a  necessary  and  not  an  arbitrary  one.  To  be  accepted, 
a  gift  must  first  be  appreciated,  and  desired  as  a  gift.  This, 
in  the  case  of  salvation  from  sin,  involves  repentance.  And 
then  there  must  be  full  confidence  in  the  sincerity  of  him 
who  offers  the  gift.  This  is  faith,  and,  the  gift  being  desired, 
there  can  be  a  completion  of  the  confidence  only  in  its  accept- 
ance. In  this  view  of  it,  faith  is  not  that  in  consequence  of 
which  we  receive  the  salvation,  as  if  the  faith  existed  first 
and  accepted  the  salvation  afterwards,  but  faith  is  the  very 
act  of  confidence  by  which  the  salvation  is  accepted.  It  is 
a  confidence  which  can  become  complete  only  as  it  accepts 
the  offer,  because  it  is  only  as  He  makes  the  offer  that  the 
Saviour  can  become  the  object  of  our  confidence.  Faith 
then,  in  its  relation  to  salvation,  is  that  confidence  by  which 
we  accept  it  as  a  free  gift  from  the  Saviour,  and  is  the  only 


15 

possible  way  in  which  this  gift  of  God  could  be  appropriated. 
How  simple  !  how  rational !  how  strange  it  should  fail  to 
be  understood  ! 

A  second  office  of  religious  faith,  as  stated  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, is  to  unite  man  to  God,  and  in  so  doing,  to  give  him 
power  with  God.  To  this,  faith,  as  now  explained,  is  per- 
fectly adapted.  As  our  relations  to  God  are  so  numerous 
and  intimate,  and  as  confidence  in  him  can  be  based  only  on 
a  perception  of  those  perfect  attributes  which  would  call  out 
the  highest  affection,  it  must  be  an  affectionate  confidence. 
But  it  is  only  by  an  affectionate  confidence  that  such  a  being 
as  man  can  be  united  to  God,  or,  indeed,  that  any  one  moral 
being  can  be  united  to  another.  Let  this  exist,  and  every 
thing  in  the  relations  of  the  two  beings  must  be  pleasant,  the 
relation  itself  will  be  the  ground  of  the  highest  satisfaction 
which  our  nature  can  know,  and  will  lie  at  the  foundation  of 
a  higher  and  nobler  idea  of  being  and  of  order  than  any 
other.  What  is  the  idea  of  myriads  of  orbs  circling  in  har- 
mony together,  compared  with  that  of  myriads  of  intelligent 
and  moral  beings  united  to  God  and  to  each  other  in  a  mutual 
and  affectionate  confidence  ?  Here  we  find  the  true  end  of 
this  universe — an  order  of  which  all  other  order  is  but  the 
symbol. 

And  while  faith  thus  unites  us  to  God,  it  is  natural  and 
rational  to  suppose  that  it  should  have  the  great  power 
ascribed  to  it  in  the  Scriptures.  It  is  one  of  the  strongest 
impulses  and  principles  of  a  rightly  constituted  nature  never 
to  disappoint  any  confidence  that  is  justly  reposed  in  it. 
This  seems  to  be  even  the  instinct  of  a  generous  nature 
without  reference  to  principle.  Who  is  there  that  would  not 
protect  a  dove  that  should  come  and  nestle  in  his  bosom  1 
An  appeal  by  innocence,  by  helplessness,  by  distress,  in 
which  the  individual  abandons  himself  with  entire  confidence 
to  ms,  is  one  of  the  strongest  that  can  be  made  to  our  nature, 


16 

and  will  often  be  met  by  the  greatest  sacrifices,  not  only  by 
individuals,  but  by  whole  nations.  Let  Kossuth  escape  and 
come  to  this  country,  and  confide  himself  to  our  protection, 
and  let  him  be  pursued  by  the  combined  power  of  Russia 
and  of  Austria,  yea  by  the  power  of  the  world,  and  the 
nation  would  rise  as  one  man,  would  form  a  living  wall 
around  him,  and  he  would  be  taken  only  as  his  pursuers 
should  pass  over  the  dead  bodies  of  those  who  would  stand 
in  his  defence.  Shall  men  do  thus,  and  shall  not  God  defend 
those  who  come  to  put  their  trust  under  the  shadow  of  his 
wings  ?  Shall  any  innocent  creature  of  God  that  is  in  dis- 
tress come  to  him  and  confide  in  him,  and  shall  not  the 
resources  of  Omnipotence  be  held  ready  for  his  deliverance  ? 
Shall  any  guilty  creature  of  God,  however  debased  and 
wretched,  yea  though  he  were  dyed  and  steeped  in  sin,  come 
to  him  with  a  confidence  authorized  by  the  death  of  Christ, 
and  cast  himself  upon  him  for  pardon  and  adoption,  and 
shall  he  not  be  received  even  as  the  prodigal  son  ?  Shall 
any  servant  of  God,  in  this  world  of  conflict,  be  hardly  beset, 
and,  feeling  that  his  own  strength  is  weakness,  look  up  to 
God  with  an  eye  of  filial  confidence,  and  shall  he  not  send 
him  succor  1  Shall  his  servants  say,  in  the  very  face  of  the 
flames,  "  Our  God  whom  we  serve  is  able  to  deliver  us  from 
the  burning  fiery  furnace,  and  he  will  deliver  us,  O  king," 
and  shall  he  not  deliver  them  ?  What  are  the  laws  of  nature 
in  a  case  like  this  ?  They  are  but  as  a  technicality  compared 
with  a  mighty  principle.  One  glance  of  a  confiding  eye  is 
mightier  than  all  the  laws  of  nature.  Heaven  and  earth  may 
pass  away,  but  not  a  hair  of  him  who  puts  confidence  in  God 
shall  "fall  to  the  earth."  Sooner,  far  sooner,  would  God 
sweep  this  material  framework,  with  all  its  laws,  into  utter 
annihilation,  than  he  would  disappoint  the  authorized  confi- 
dence of  the  most  inconsiderable  of  his  creatures.  How 
different  is  this  universe  when  thus  viewed  by  the  light  of 


17 

faith  in  its  relation  to  a  controlling  personal  being,  a  Father, 
and  a  Friend  ;  and  when  viewed  in  the  light  of  philosophy, 
as  mere  nature — as  an  unvarying,  undiscriminating,  crushing 
uniformity  ! 

The  third  office  of  religious  faith  is  to  be  a  principle  of 
action.  And  if  there  be  any  one  thing  which  a  young  man 
about  to  enter  upon  life  ought  to  consider  thoroughly,  it  is 
his  principles  of  action.  Upon  these  his  own  character,  and 
that  of  his  enterprises,  will  depend.  As  you,  my  friends, 
adopt,  from  this  time,  right  principles  of  action,  so,  and  so 
only,  will  you  promote  your  true  usefulness,  and  permanent 
good. 

But  certain  it  is,  referring  to  the  distinction  already  made, 
that  the  highest  principles  of  action  cannot  be  found  in  the 
sphere  of  things.  The  study  of  these  may  train  the  intel- 
lect, and  make  men  mere  philosophers ;  they  may  awaken 
the  desire  to  possess  them  as  property  and  make  men  misers  ; 
they  may  call  forth  the  emotions  of  beauty  and  sublimity  ; 
and  that  is  all.  There  is  here  no  confidence,  no  affection,  no 
sympathy.  But  bring  man,  now,  into  intercourse  with  free^ 
personal  and  moral  beings,  and  every  high  faculty  of  his 
nature  will  come  into  play.  The  intellect,  and  the  heart, 
and  the  moral  nature  will  act  together  and  strengthen  each 
other.  And  as  the  basis  of  all  such  intercourse  must  be 
faith,  so  the  basis  of  all  intercourse  with  God  must  be  relig- 
ious faith. 

As  a  principle  of  action,  religious  faith  is  contrasted  with 
those  adopted  by  the  heroes  of  this  world,  because  it  tends 
to  form  a  complete  character.  Recognizing  an  omnipresent 
and  omniscient  God,  it  acts  equally  at  all  times,  and  bears  as 
well  upon  the  minute,  as  upon  the  greater  actions  of  life. 
Minute  actions  and  details  must  make  up  the  whole  life  of 
most  men,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  life  of  all  men ;  and 
what  we  need  above  all  things,  is  a  principle  of  action  that 
3 


18 

shall  embrace  all  acts  equally,  as  the  law  of  gravitation 
embraces  the  atom  and  the  planet,  and  that  may  dignify  the 
smallest  act  by  the  principle  from  which  it  proceeds.  Such 
a  principle  is  religious  faith  ;  and  nothing  but  this  can  carry 
the  life-blood  of  principle  into  those  minuter  portions  of 
human  conduct  on  which  our  happiness  here  chiefly  depends. 
This  would  attune  the  chords  of  domestic  life  and  make 
them  discourse  sweet  music ;  it  would  substitute  the  fresh- 
ness of  sincerity,  and  the  flush  of  benevolence,  for  the  paint 
and  frigidity  of  a  false  and  conventional  politeness.  Carry- 
ing out  such  a  principle,  an  individual  may  be  truly  great, 
however  humble  his  sphere  ;  and  this  greatness  will  bear  the 
test,  and  grow  as  it  is  examined  ;  while  that  which  takes 
human  opinion  as  its  standard  and  reward,  dwindles  and 
becomes  contemptible  the  more  it  is  known.  This  latter 
cultivates  the  art  of  concealment ;  it  is  great,  and "  generous, 
and  kind,  in  public ;  and  mean,  and  selfish,  and  unamiable, 
at  home.  Long  enough  has  the  world  been  filled  with  pre- 
tences, and  shows,  and  fair  seemings,  and  whited  sepulchres ; 
but  the  remedy  for  these  is  to  be  found,  not  in  any  ridicule 
or  denunciation  of  hypocrisy,  nor  in  any  splenetic  or  con- 
temptuous decrial  of  '  shams,'  but  only  in  the  cultivation  of 
a  true  religious  faith. 

This  will  be  the  more  obvious  if  we  notice  a  second,  and 
grand  peculiarity  of  religious  faith,  which  is,  that  it  can 
work  only  in  harmony  with  the  moral  nature.  No  man  can 
expect  to  be  aided  or  sustained  by  God,  when  he  is  doing 
any  thing  which  he  is  conscious  is  not  well  pleasing  to  him. 
Confidence  in  God  must  imply  a  constant  endeavor  to  know 
his  will,  and  must,  hence,  quicken  the  conscience,  and,  as 
the  Scriptures  express  it,  purify  the  heart.  I  have  already 
spoken  of  the  essential  connection  between  faith  and  love, 
and  it  is  by  its  intimate  alliance  with  conscience  on  the  one 
hand,  and  love  on  the  other,  that  religious  faith  is  capable  of 


19 

becoming  a  principle  of  action  so  ennobling  and  so  mighty. 
It  is  rational  and  intelligent  as  recognizing,  sometimes  the 
plans  of  God,  and  always  the  grounds  of  trust  in  Him  ;  it 
quickens  the  conscience  as  necessarily  adopting  the  law  of 
God  for  its  rule  of  action  ;  and  it  gives  full  play  to  the 
affections,  by  drawing  its  very  life  from  the  holy  and  infinitely 
amiable  character  of  God.  Thus,  he  who  is  actuated  by 
this  principle  must  have  the  strength  that  comes  from  the 
consciousness  of  acting  rationally ;  from  peace  with  God ; 
and  peace  of  conscience.  Thus  has  it  every  element  that 
can  be  needed  to  sustain  great  and  heroic  action.  Let  a  man 
feel  that  he  is  in  sympathy  with  God  in  the  object  of  his 
pursuit,  that  God  approves  the  means  he  adopts,  and  let  him 
have  a  filial  confidence  in  him,  and  what  deed  of  a  true 
heroism  is  there,  whether  of  action  or  of  suffering,  which  he 
may  not  perform?  Thus  moved  and  sustained,  is  it  any 
wonder  that  they  of  old  "subdued  kingdoms,  wrought 
rightousness,  obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions, 
quenched  the  violence  of  fire,  escaped  the  edge  of  the 
sword,  out  of  weakness  were  made  strong,  waxed  valiant  in 
fight,  turned  to  flight  the  armies  of  the  aliens  "  ?  And  what 
this  principle  was  of  old,  it  is  now.  The  same  God  is  above 
us,  and  his  response  to  any  confidence  reposed  in  Him  will 
not  be  less  full.  This  only  can  support  the  martyr,  the 
moral  hero,  the  hero  of  meekness,  and  righteousness,  and 
love  unconquerable.  This  only  can  lead  men  to  originate 
and  sustain  those  great  moral  enterprises,  on  the  success  of 
which  the  welfare  and  progress  of  the  world  must  ultimately 
turn.  It  cannot  be  that  man  should  set  himself  fully 
against  the  Avickedness  of  his  own  heart,  and  the  wickedness 
of  the  world  around  him,  and  resist  the  allurements  of 
temptation,  and  defy  the  powers  of  nature  wielded  by  perse- 
cution, and  endure  to  the  end,  and  overcome,  except  as 
"  seeing  him  who  is  invisible."     "  This  is  the  victory  that 


20 

overcometh  the  world,  even  our  faith."  Only  this  can 
enable  the  true  missionary  to  forsake  country  and  friends, 
and  devote  his  life,  in  a  heathen  land,  to  the  good  of  those 
whom  he  knows  but  as  redeemed  by  the  blood  of  Christ ; 
only  this  can  sustain  him  in  attacking  forms  of  sin  that  seem 
as  ancient  and  firm  as  the  hills ;  this  alone  can  enable  him  to 
labor  on  till  death,  and  die  in  hope,  while  yet  the  darkness 
of  midnight  lies  upon  the  mountains.  Such  a  faith  has 
nothing  to  do  with  nature.  She  comes  down  from  above 
into  the  sphere  of  nature,  she  contemplates  objects  of  which 
nature  knows  nothing,  and  when  she  acts  rationally  with 
reference  to  these  objects — to  a  kingdom  and  laws  that  are 
above  nature — nature  says  she  is  mad.  She  is  not  mad  ; — 
the  might  of  the  universe  is  with  her:  God  is  with  her; 
eternity  shall  vindicate  her.  This,  not  money,  not  machinery, 
or  confidence  in  them,  but  this  it  is  that  the  church  needs. 
Let  her  come  directly  to  God  in  the  strength  of  a  perfect 
weakness,  in  the  power  of  a  felt  helplessness  and  a  child-like 
confidence,  and  then,  either  she  has  no  strength,  and  has  no 
right  to  be,  or  she  has  a  strength  that  is  infinite.  Then, 
and  thus,  will  she  stretch  out  the  rod  over  the  seas  of 
difficulty  that  lie  before  her,  and  the  waters  shall  divide,  and 
she  shall  pass  through,  and  sing  the  song  of  deliverance. 

From  the  view  of  faith  now  taken,  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
every  system  of  negations,  and  distrust,  and  skepticism,  must 
tend  to  lower  the  tone  of  human  action  and  enjoyment,  and 
must  be  uncongenial  to  our  nature.  Such  systems  may  be 
useful  in  pulling  down  error,  but  have  no  constructive  power. 
Their  effect  must  be  like  that  of  withdrawing  the  vital 
element  from  the  air ;  and  not  more  certainly  will  languor 
and  feebleness  creep  over  the  physical  system  in  one  case, 
than  over  the  spiritual  in  the  other.  There  can  be  no  robust 
and  healthy  life,  either  social  or  spiritual,  without  a  strong 
faith. 


21 

Let  me  then  first  counsel  you,  my  friends,  to  place  a  gen- 
erous confidence  in  your  fellow-men.  Not  that  you  should 
be  weak,  or  credulous,  but,  if  you  must  err  at  all,  let  it  be  on 
the  side  of  confidence.  For  your  own  sakcs  repress  the  first 
risings  of  a  suspicious  and  distrustful  temper.  It  will  un- 
string the  nerves  of  your  energy,  and  corrode  your  very 
heart.  Far  from  you  be  that  form  of  conceit  which  attrib- 
utes to  itself  shrewdness  and  wisdom  by  always  suspecting 
evil.  Far  sooner  would  I  make  it  a  part  of  my  philosophy 
and  plan,  to  be  imposed  upon  and  cheated,  up  to  a  certain 
point.  Let  not  even  intercourse  with  the  world,  and  the 
caution  of  age,  congeal  the  spring  of  your  confidence  and 
sympathy.  So  doing,  you  may  find  much  that  you  would 
wish  otherwise,  some  you  may  find  that  will  be  as  a  briar, 
and  sharper  than  a  thorn-hedge,  brethren  that  will  supplant, 
and  neighbors  that  will  walk  in  slanders ;  but  you  will  also 
find  answering  confidence,  repose  for  the  soul,  green  spots, 
and  fountains  in  the  desert. 

Let  me  also  warn  you  especially  against  all  those  panthe- 
istic views,  virtually  atheistic,  which  are  setting  in  upon  us 
in  these  days  in  connection  with  certain  forms  of  a  transcend- 
ental philosophy.  The  great  result,  if  not  the  object  of  all 
such  schemes,  is  to  obscure  and  exclude  the  idea  of  person- 
ality in  God ;  and  hence,  of  accountability  in  man.  It  is 
around  this  banner,  more  than  any  other,  that  the  migratory 
hordes  of  infidelity  are  gathering,  and  uniting  against  the 
religion  of  the  Bible.  These  schemes  assume  the  garb  of  a 
high  philosophy ;  they  put  on  the  sheep's  clothing  of  a  relig- 
ious phraseology.  In  their  outward  aspect,  they  are  contem- 
plative, reverent,  and  especially  philanthropic.  Their  advo- 
cates believe  in  God — but  then  all  things  are  God,  and  in 
the  working  of  all  things  hitherto,  nothing  higher  than  man 
has  been  produced.  They  believe  in  inspiration — but  then 
all  good  books  are  inspired.     They  believe  in  Jesus  Christ — 


22 

and  so  they  do  in  Confucius,  and  Socrates,  and  Mohammed, 
and  Luther,  and  in  all  earnest  and  heroic  men.  They  believe 
in  progress — but  in  a  progress  which  neither  springs  from, 
nor  leads  to  moral  order.  They  make  the  ideas  of  guilt  and 
retribution  a  bugbear,  redemption  an  absurdity,  repentance 
unnecessary,  and  faith  impossible.  Making  such  pretensions 
to  philosophy,  and  giving  such  license  to  passion,  these 
schemes  have  great  attractions,  and  form  the  chief  speculative 
quicksands  which  the  currents  of  this  age  have  drifted  up, 
and  on  which  the  young  are  in  danger  of  being  wrecked. 
They  merge  personality  into  laws,  the  operations  of  a  wise 
agent  into  necessary  uniformities.  They  make  the  order  and 
stability  of  God's  works  testify,  not  to  his  wisdom  and  immu- 
tability, but  to  his  non-existence.  They  change  the  truth 
which  the  creatures  thus  tell,  into  a  lie,  and  say,  "  No  God." 
Thus  are  the  heavens  disrobed  of  their  glory,  and  infinite 
space  becomes  a  blank,  and  faith  finds  no  object,  and  the 
tendrils  of  affection  find  no  oak,  and  human  life  is  without  a 
providence,  and  conscience  is  a  lie,  and  death  is  an  eternal 
sleep.  To  all  such  schemes,  and  their  abettors,  how  appro- 
propriate  and  overwhelming  are  the  reproof  and  the  argu- 
ment framed  expressly  for  them  long  ago  :  "  Understand,  ye 
brutish  among  the  people  ;  and  ye  fools,  when  will  ye  be 
wise  ?  He  that  planted  the  ear,  shall  he  not  hear  ?  He  that 
formed  the  eye,  shall  he  not  see  ?  He  that  chastiseth  the 
heathen,  shall  not  he  correct  ?  He  that  teacheth  man  knowl- 
edge, shall  not  he  know  ? " 

And  now,  my  beloved  Friends,  in  bringing  to  a  close  my 
relations  to  you  as  an  Instructor,  what  can  I  wish  better  for 
you  personally,  or  for  the  world  in  your  relations  to  it,  than 
that  you  should  take  for  your  actuating  and  sustaining  prin- 
ciple, Faith  in  God.  Without  this,  you  will  lack  the  highest 
element  of  happiness,  and  the  only  adequate  ground  of  sup- 


23 

port ;  life  will  be  without  dignity,  and  death  without  hope. 
Only  by  faith  can  you  run  that  race  which  is  set  before  you, 
as  before  those  of  old.  In  this  world  your  courses  may  be 
different ;  you  will  choose  different  professions,  and  diverge 
widely  in  your  lines  of  life.  To  some  of  you,  the  race  here 
may  be  brief.  One  whom  I  addressed  the  last  year,  as  I  do 
you  to-day,  now  sleeps  in  death.  But  whatever  this  may  be, 
and  whether  longer  or  shorter,  before  you  all  there  is  set  the 
same  race  under  the  moral  government  of  God  ;  to  you  all  is 
held  out  the  same  prize.  Why  should  you  not  run  this  race  ? 
Never  was  there  a  time,  in  the  history  of  the  world,  when 
moral  heroes  were  more  needed.  The  world  waits  for  such. 
The  providence  of  God  has  commanded  science  to  labor  and 
prepare  the  way  for  such.  For  them  she  is  laying  her  iron 
tracks,  and  stretching  her  wires,  and  bridging  the  oceans. 
But  where  are  they  ?  Who  shall  breathe  into  our  civil  and 
political  relations  the  breath  of  a  higher  life  ?  Who  shall 
couch  the  eyes  of  a  paganized  science,  and  of  a  pantheistic 
philosophy,  that  they  may  see  God  ?  Who  shall  consecrate, 
to  the  glory  of  God,  the  triumphs  of  science  ?  Who  shall 
bear  the  life-boat  to  the  stranded  and  perishing  nations  ? 
Who  should  do  these  tilings,  if  not  you — not  in  your  rela- 
tions to  time  only,  but  to  eternity,  and  to  the  universe  of 
God? 

And  as  seen  in  the  light  of  faith,  what  a  race !  what  an 
arena  !  what  a  prize  ! 

Faith  places  us  under  the  inspection  and  care  of  the 
eternal  and  omnipresent  God,  and  accepts  of  him  as  a  Father, 
a  Redeemer,  a  Sanctifier,  and  Portion.  She  enthrones  Him 
above  all  laws,  and  to  that  utterance  which  she  hears  coming 
as  the  voice  of  many  waters  from  around  the  throne,  saying, 
The  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth,  she  says,  Amen.  She 
introduces  us  to  a  spiritual  family  of  our  own  race,  and  of 
superior  orders  of  beings,  before  whose  numbers  and  capaci- 


24 

ties  the  imagination  falters.  She  accepts  the  suggestions  of 
analogy,  that  the  moral  and  spiritual  universe  is  commensurate 
with  that  physical  universe  which  night  reveals,  the  outskirts 
of  which  no  telescope  can  reach  ;  and  for  the  unfolding  and 
sweep  of  a  government  embracing  such  an  extent,  she  has  an 
eternity.  Such  is  the  scene  in  the  midst  of  which  this  race 
is  to  be  run.  What  is  the  prize  ?  It  is  likeness  to  God — 
sonship — the  inheritance  of  all  things  to  be  enjoyed  forever. 
That  such  a  prize  might  be  offered,  Christ  died  ;  that  it  may 
be  striven  for,  as  the  one  thing  needful,  the  Holy  Spirit 
pleads.  Gird  yourselves,  then,  for  this  race  ;  run  it  with 
patience,  "  looking  unto  Jesus."  The  world  may  not  notice, 
or  know  you  ;  for  it  knew  Him  not.  It  may  persecute  you, 
for  it  persecuted  Him  ;  but  in  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  everlast- 
ing strength.  He  will  be  with  you  ;  He  will  sustain  you ; — 
the  great  cloud  of  witnesses  will  encompass  you ;  they  will 
wait  to  hail  you  with  acclamation  as  you  shall  reach  the  goal, 
and  receive  the  prize.  That  goal  may  you  all  reach, — that 
prize  may  you  all  receive. 


STRENGTH    AND    BJCA.UTY. 


BACCALAUREATE   SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,  MS. 


AUGUST  17,  1851. 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.D 

President  of  Williams  College. 


IJublis^cb  bu  |jkqatst  of  %  Class. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN,   42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1851. 


SERMON. 


PSALM     xcvi.    6. 

STRENGTH  AND  BEAUTY  ARE  IN  HIS  SANCTUARY. 

There  are  some  things,  both  in  nature  and  in  character, 
that  are  incompatible  with  each  other.  Such  are  light  and 
darkness,  moral  good  and  moral  evil,  hope  and  despair.  One 
can  exist  only  as  the  other  is  excluded.  There  are  also  some 
things,  as  drought  and  sterility,  integrity  and  firmness,  stealing 
and  lying,  which  are  naturally  associated,  and  which  we  expect 
to  find  together.  Again  ;  there  are  qualities  which,  though 
not  incompatible,  have  yet  a  tendency  to  exclude  each  other, 
and  which  are  seldom  found  combined  in  any  high  degree. 
Such  are  flexibility  and  firmness,  weight  and  velocity,  energy 
and  good  temper,  imagination  and  judgment,  judgment  and 
feeling,  versatility  and  concentration,  patience  and  the  power 
of  rapid  combination  and  execution. 

That  the  highest  excellence,  either  mental  or  moral,  can 
be  reached  only  by  blending,  in  their  most  perfect  proportions, 
qualities  which  have  thus  a  tendency  to  exclude  each  other, 
may  be  easily  seen.  An  acute  intellect  is  justly  reckoned  a 
perfection,  but  there  is  in  it  a  tendency  to  exclude  broad  and 
comprehensive  views.  The  power,  on  the  other  hand,  of 
taking  the  most  broad  and  comprehensive  views,  not  only 
tends  to  exclude,  but  often  leads  us  to  despise  that  acuteness 
and  subtlety  of  analysis   without  which    no  investigation  is 


perfect.  But  these  are  not  incompatible,  and  a  perfect  mind 
would  be  able  to  act  equally  well  in  either  direction.  As  a 
perfect  eye  would  possess  both  a  telescopic  and  a  microscopic 
power, — now  ranging  through  the  universe,  and  now  adjust- 
ing itself  to  the  minutest  object, — so  will  mind  be  perfect  only 
as  it  can  embrace  at  once  the  most  expanded  generalizations 
and  the  minutest  details.  In  a  perfect  mind,  great  logical 
power  would  be  united  with  an  affluent  imagination ;  but  these 
tend  to  exclude  each  other,  and  the  combination  is  so  rare 
that  he  in  whom  it  occurs  is  always  a  distinguished  man. 
In  moral  character,  economy  is  a  virtue  ;  but  there  is  in  it  a 
tendency  to  the  exclusion  of  generosity,  which  is  equally 
a  virtue.  Boldness  is  not  easily  combined  with  caution,  nor 
sternness  with  a  melting  pity,  nor  zeal  with  toleration.  How 
seldom  is  a  Boanerges  at  the  same  time  a  Barnabas ! 

Among  the  qualities  which  may  thus  exclude  each  other, 
but  which  are  yet  often  combined  both  in  nature  and  in 
character,  are  strength  and  beauty. 

In  nature,  how  beautiful  is  the  lily,  the  tulip,  the  rose, 
the  honey-suckle  !  How  beautiful  is  the  humming-bird,  that 
poises  itself  upon  its  almost  viewless  wings,  and  draws  from 
that  same  honey-suckle  its  sweet  food  !  How  beautiful  is 
the  oriole,  that  weaves  its  hauging  nest  in  the  tree  above ! 
These  are  beautiful,  but  have  not  strength.  .  On  the  other 
hand,  how  strong  is  the  ox,  and  the  elephant,  and  the 
rhinoceros,  and  the  whale  !  These  have  strength,  but  not 
beauty.  The  hugeness  of  these  contributes  to  their  strength, 
but  would  seem  to  exclude  beauty  ;  while  the  lightness  and 
fragility  and  exquisite  structure  of  the  others  constitute  their 
beauty,  but  would  seem  to  exclude  strength.  This  separa- 
tion of  strength  and  beauty  is  perhaps  more  striking  when 
they  are  contrasted.  Of  this  we  find  instances  in  man  and 
woman,  in  the  vine  and  the  oak,  in  the  violet  sheltered  in 
the  cleft  of  the  rock,  in  the  rainbow  overhanging  the 
cataract. 

But   these   qualities,  so   often  separated  and  contrasted  in 


nature,  are  also  often  combined.  They  are  so  in  the  tree. 
In  the  oak  strength  predominates.  Its  sturdy  and  gnarled 
trunk  is  the  emblem  of  strength ;  and  yet  an  oak,  with  its 
full  coronal  of  glossy  leaves,  is  not  without  beauty.  In  the 
elm,  beauty  predominates.  With  its  light  form  compared 
with  its  height,  with  its  symmetrical  top  and  pendent  branches, 
it  stands  like  a  veiled  bride  in  her  beauty  ;  and  yet  the  elm 
impresses  us  with  the  idea  of  great  strength.  The  green 
valley  is  beautiful,  the  mountain  is  strong.  The  mountain 
covered  with  verdure,  is  strength  clothed  with  beauty.  In 
a  horse,  to  pass  to  the  animal  kingdom,  these  qualities  are 
sometimes  strikingly  blended.  A  fine  horse  is  among  the 
most  powerful  of  animals  ;  but  when  he  is  left  as  nature 
made  him,  with  his  flowing  mane  and  tail,  and  moves  with 
the  apparent  consciousness  of  the  admiration  he  excites,  he  is 
among  the  most  beautiful.  But  it  is  .in  the  human  form 
that  these  qualities  are  capable  of  their  highest  and  most 
perfect  combination.  This  is  the  central  idea  in  that  concep- 
tion of  the  Apollo  by  the  Greeks,  which  must  always  remain 
the  model  of  the  physical  man.  In  that,  nothing  that  would 
contribute  to  beauty  is  conceded  to  strength,  and  everything 
that  contributes  to  strength  is  beautiful.  Let  the  body  of 
man  combine  these  qualities  as  it  may,  and  it  is  evidently  a 
fit  dwelling  for  that  immortal  spirit  which  is  made  in  the 
image  of  God.  Such  a  body,  filled  with  life,  the  features 
radiant  with  intelligence  and  love,  would  realize  the  highest 
conception  that  man  can  form  of  the  power  of  the  material, 
both  to  veil  and  to  reveal  the  spiritual. 

But  while  we  thus  find  this  combination  in  each  separate 
department  of  the  works  of  God,  it  is  perhaps  most  striking 
in  the  general  impression  which  those  works  make  upon 
man.  To  the  whole  structure  and  movement  of  nature  the 
Greeks  gave  the  name  '  Jcosmos'  signifying  beauty ;  but 
looking  as  they  did  upon  the  earth  as  fixed,  what  could  give 
a  stronger  impression  of  strength  in  the  form  of  stability  ? 
But  if  we  look  upon  the  earth  and  planetary  system  as  now 


6 

understood,  this  impression  is  greatly  heightened.  While 
we  have  the  same  round  of  the  seasons,  the  same  '  pomp  of 
day  '  and  glories  of  the  night,  the  same  green  hills  and 
sparkling  waters,  and  the  same  bow  in  the  heavens,  with 
them,  nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  conception 
which  our  astronomy  gives  us  of  the  uniform,  circular,  har- 
monious movements  of  the  shining  orbs  above  us,  and 
nothing  can  give  us  a  higher  conception  of  force,  or  strength 
exerted,  than  their  amazing  velocity. 

With  such  a  combination  of  these  elements  in  the  works 
of  God,  we  might  expect  that  they  would  be  combined  in 
any  physical  structure  which  he  should  direct  men  to  build. 
Accordingly  we  find  that  strength  and  beauty  were  in  his 
sanctuary.  Probably  these  were  more  perfectly  combined  in 
the  temple  of  Solomon  than  in  any  other  building  ever 
erected.  This,  however,  was  not  for  its  own  sake  ;  but, 
under  a  typical  dispensation,  it  was  doubtless  intended  to 
symbolize  that  spiritual  strength  and  beauty  which  were  to 
belong  to  the  spiritual  and  only  true  temple  of  God. 

Let  us  then  look  at  strength  and  beauty  as  they  may  exist 
and  be  combined  in  the  character  of  man. 

The  idea  of  strength  is  simple,  admitting  of  no  analysis  ; 
but  strength  itself  may  be  manifested  in  either  of  two  ways. 
It  may  either  make  an  impression,  as  when  the  "  sun  shineth 
in  his  strength  ; "  it  may  overcome  obstacles,  break  down 
barriers,  and  march  forward  to  the  attainment  of  a  proposed 
end ;  or  it  may  stand  firm  as  the  hills,  when  it  is  said  that 
"  the  strength  of  the  hills  is  His  also ; "  it  may  bear  burdens, 
it  may  resist  impressions  that  are  attempted  to  be  made 
upon  it. 

The  whole  strength  which  any  man  will  be  able  to  exert 
in  either  of  these  modes  will  depend  in  part  on  the  faculties 
he  may  possess,  and  in  part  on  the  energy  of  the  will. 

The  faculties  will  vary  in  their  power  according  to  their 
original  constitution,  and  their  training.  Nothing  that  I  see 
would  lead  me  to  suppose  that  the  powers  of  all  men  are 


originally  alike.  In  this  respect,  as  well  as  in  others,  God 
gives  to  one  five  talents,  and  to  another  one.  But  certain 
original  powers  being  given,  their  subsequent  strength  will 
depend  on  their  training.  Here  the  great  and  only  law  is, 
that  the  legitimate  use  of  any  power  given  by  God  strengthens 
that  power.  This  is  true  of  the  body  and  of  the  mind  ;  and 
here  we  see  the  difference  between  the  works  of  God  and 
those  of  man.  The  works  of  man  are  impaired  by  use  ; 
those  of  God  are  improved.  For  his  original  faculties  man 
is  not  responsible,  but  only  for  their  improvement. 

But  while  there  is  nothing  praiseworthy  in  the  possession 
of  great  original  powers,  we  yet  contemplate  them  with 
admiration  and  delight,  as  we  do  a  great  tree,  a  great  moun- 
tain, a  great  river,  as  we  do  the  ocean.  We  watch  with 
delight  the  march  of  the  mind  of  Butler,  we  wonder  at  the 
apparent  intuitions  of  Newton,  and  at  the  spontaneous  crea- 
tions of  the  genius  of  Milton.  It  is  vain  to  complain  of  the 
admiration  of  men  for  talent  and  genius  as  such.  That  ad- 
miration is  legitimate.  It  may  be  overwhelmed  and  merged 
in  sorrow,  or  in  horror  from  their  perversion  ;  but  interest 
will  concentrate  where  great  power  is  manifested,  whether  it 
be  physical  or  mental,  whether  for  good  or  for  evil.  A 
tornado,  prostrating  trees  and  unroofing  houses,  a  volcano 
pouring  forth  its  destructive  lava,  a  burning  city  even, 
regarded  simply  as  a  display  of  energy,  are  witnessed  with 
pleasure.  But  this  strength  of  the  faculties,  this  energy  with 
which  they  are  capable  of  working,  however  impelled,  is 
entirely  different  from  strength  of  character.  This  it  is  for 
which  we  are  responsible,  and  with  which  we  are  chiefly 
concerned. 

But  man  can  have  strength  of  character  only  as  he  is 
capable  of  controlling  his  faculties ;  of  choosing  a  rational 
end ;  and,  in  its  pursuit,  of  holding  fast  to  his  integrity 
against  all  the  might  of  external  nature. 

Without  self-control  there  can  be  no  strength  of  character. 
Its  first  condition  is  the  subjection  of  the  impulses  and  appe- 


8 

tites  and  passions  of  all  the  faculties,  to  the  control  of  the 
personal  power — of  the  man  himself.  (C  He  that  hath  no 
rule  over  his  own  spirit  is  like  a  city  that  is  broken  down  and 
without  walls."     Pie  has  no  strength  to  do,  or  to  resist. 

This  power  of  self-control  being  supposed,  strength  of 
character  may  be  manifested  by  a  continued  and  concentrated 
energy  put  forth  for  the  attainment  of  a  given  end.  This 
strength,  however,  can  be  manifested  fully  only  as  obstacles 
are  met,  and  external  influences  are  resisted,  and  the  power, 
not  only  of  active  effort,  but  of  patient  endurance,  is  tested 
to  the  utmost. 

Of  such  strength  of  character,  both  in  active  effort  and  in 
patient  endurance,  Washington  is  a  good  example.  During 
the  long  years  of  the  revolution  his  activity  was  incessant, 
and  that  too  in  the  midst  of  every  form  of  discouragement ; 
yet  he  never  faltered.  Still,  strength  of  character  was  not  as 
severely  tested  in  him  as  it  might  have  been.  There  were 
many  Avho  understood  his  object,  and  sympathized  with  him. 
The  eyes  of  a  nation  were  upon  him.  It  never  came  to  be  a 
question  whether  he  should  relinquish  his  purpose  or  his 
life.  But  if  we  suppose  one  of  exquisite  sensibility,  the 
most  keenly  alive  to  suffering  and  to  every  form  of  reproach, 
whose  object  is  great  and  worthy,  but  not  understood,  who 
has  no  sympathy  from  any  human  being,  who  is  either 
opposed  or  deserted  by  all  mankind,  and  that  the  question 
with  him  is  whether  he  shall  abandon  his  purpose  or  go  to  a 
death  of  torture  and  of  ignominy,  we  shall  then  have  the 
highest  conceivable  test  of  strength  of  character.  Of  this 
there  has  been  but  one  perfect  example  in  our  nature ;  but 
of  this,  man  is  capable.  He  was  once  in  harmony  with 
nature  and  with  all  external  agencies.  In  a  perfect  state 
he  would  be.  But  through  moral,  and  consequent  physical 
derangement,  all  expressed  sympathy,  and  all  external  agen- 
cies may  be  against  him,  and  they  may  press  him  to  the  last 
extremity ;  but  still  he  may  have  such  a  sense  of  duty,  and 
such  faith  in  God,  as  to  enable  him  to  stand  firm,  and  to 


9 

meet  a  certain  death.  The  spiritual  may  triumph  over  the 
sensual  and  the  material — the  immortal  over  the  mortal.  If 
man  is  not  the  master  of  nature,  as  here  he  is  not,  he  is 
yet  not  her  slave.  Against  his  own  will,  no  power  on  earth 
or  in  hell  can  make  him  so.  As  spiritual  and  free,  he  is 
not  properly  of  nature,  but  stands  over  against  her.  He  is 
no  part  of  a  linked  and  necessary  series  of  cause  and  effect, 
but  may  find  in  himself  grounds  of  activity  that  will  enable 
him  to  resist  every  impulse  and  motive  that  can  be  brought 
from  without.  When  pushed  fully  up  to  "that  line  where 
degradation  and  slavery  commence,  he  has  only  to  stand  firm, 
and  God  himself,  by  the  hand  of  death,  will  open  a  gate 
by  which  he  may  pass  out  unstained  and  unhumbled  into 
perfect  freedom.  Here  is  his  true  dignity,  here  is  strength. 
So  have  the  martyrs  stood.  What  is  the  strength  of  the  hills 
compared  with  this  ? 

Strength  thus  shown  in  resistance  to  impressions,  and  in 
standing  firm,  is  in  some  respects  less  striking,  and  at  the  time 
is  less  admired,  than  that  which  shows  itself  in  active  effort, 
producing  directly  great  results ;  but  it  may  be  doubted 
whether,  in  a  world  like  this,  it  is  not  more  heroic,  and 
ultimately  more  fruitful  of  good  and  more  honored.  To 
illustrate  this,  and  express  for  it  the  admiration  of  mankind, 
the  simile  of  all  ages  is  that  of  a  rock  standing  immovable  in 
the  midst  of  the  tumultuous  waters.  And  certainly  when 
we  think  of  the  sea  of  human  passion,  and  of  the  fury  into 
which  it  may  be  lashed,  and  of  the  strong  desire  for  ap- 
probation, and  of  the  fear  of  death,  and  of  the  natural  distrust 
of  men  in  their  own  opinions  when  they  stand  alone,  it  is  one 
of  the  sublimest  of  all  spectacles  to  see  a  man  stand  firm 
against  all  possible  allurements  and  threatenings,  and,  reckless 
of  consequences,  hold  fast  to  truth  and  to  duty. 

Perhaps  it  should  be  mentioned  here,  that  energy  in  active 
effort,  and  the  power  of  patient  wating  and  endurance,  may 
be  blended  in  different  proportions,  and  that  they  have   some 
tendency  to  exclude  each  other. 
2 


10 

Such  are  the  nature  and  sphere  of  strength  of  character. 
What  are  those  of  beauty  ? 

As  the  idea  of  strength  is  simple,  so  is  that  of  beauty. 
The  emotion  can  be  known  only  by  being  felt,  and  only 
experience  can  teach  us  what  it  is  that  causes  the  emotion  to 
arise.  Doubtless  there  is  something  of  inherent  beauty  in 
all  the  forms  of  moral  goodness,  but  in  some  more  than  in 
others.  If  it  is  said,  as  it  may  be,  that  there  is  beauty  in 
justice,  yet  other  elements  preponderate,  and  it  has  far  less  of 
beauty  than  benevolence.  On  such  a  subject,  the  impercep- 
tible shading  of  one  thing  into  another  will  not  permit  us  to 
draw  sharp  lines ;  but  it  may  be  said,  in  general,  that  while 
strength  of  character  depends  on  the  will,  beauty  depends  on 
the  affections.  The  affections  are  beautiful,  because  they  are 
spontaneous,  and  the  general  truth  here  is  that  strength  is 
to  be  found  in  the  voluntary  action  of  the  mind,  and  beauty 
in  its  spontaneous  action. 

We  are  all  conscious  of  these  two  modes  in  which  our 
faculties  work.  A  student  may  pursue  a  science  from  fear, 
or  from  the  love  of  praise  or  of  gain.  In  this  case  the  fac- 
ulties will  be  impelled  as  by  a  force  from  behind,  and  the 
moment  that  is  withdrawn  they  will  cease  to  act — perhaps 
will  react  with  strong  aversion  towards  the  science  itself. 
Here  the  will  must  labor — it  must  row  against  the  current. 
Much  of  the  activity  in  this  world  is  of  this  kind,  and  this 
it  is  that  makes  it  labor  and  drudgery. 

But  again,  a  student  may  pursue  a  science  from  a  love  of 
the  science  itself.  In  this  case  there  is  an  affinity — an 
attraction.  There  is  a  current  of  the  soul  setting  in  that 
direction,  which  the  will  may  indeed  resist,  may  perhaps 
wholly  arrest ;  but  it  will  require  an  effort  to  do  so.  The 
will  must  indeed  now  give  its  assent,  but  it  need  not  row 
the  boat.  The  movement  of  the  mind  is  spontaneous,  and 
without  apparent  effort.     It  is  as  when 

"The  river  windeth  at  its  own  sweet  will." 


11 

Such  activity  and  effort  are  not  esteemed  a  labor.  There 
will  be  in  it  a  deep  joy.  With  the  movement  of  the  facul- 
ties as  they  perform  it,  there  will  be  a  music  like  that  of  the 
spheres.  It  is  from  the  attempt  of  the  will  to  resist  these 
currents,  that  some  of  the  profoundest  struggles  of  which 
our  nature  is. capable  arise. 

Now  all  such  spontaneous  movements,  if  legitimate,  are 
beautiful.  They  are  beautiful  as  spontaneous.  Such  are  all 
the  emotions  of  taste  which  respond  to  the  beauties  and  sub- 
limities of  nature  and  of  art.  Such  are  all  the  natural 
affections,  and  such  pre-eminently  are  all  those  high  moral 
affections  which  find  a  complacency  in  their  object  from  its 
own  intrinsic  character.  Thus  it  is  that  benevolence  is 
beautiful,  and  pity,  and  tenderness,  and  a  regard  for  the 
feelings  of  others  in  the  minutest  particulars ;  thus  sympathy 
is  beautiful,  and  love,  and  a  clinging  trust.  Let  these  be 
genuine,  spontaneous,  like  the  free  gushing  up  of  a  fountain, 
and  there  is  a  beauty  in  them  such  as  there  is  in  no  verdure 
or  sparkling  waters.  They  are  to  those  sterner  qualities 
which  give  strength,  what  the  leaves  and  blossoms  are  to  the 
tree,  making  it  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and  sending  up 
a  fragrance  to  heaven. 

But  spontaneousness  is  not  the  only  element  of  beauty. 
If  the  beauty  be  a  moral  one,  as  it  must,  to  be  strictly  a 
beauty  of  character,  then  the  affections  must  be  confirmed  to 
the  law  of  conscience,  and  will  have  an  intrinsic  beauty  as 
moral.  The  beauty  of  holiness  is  the  highest  of  which  the 
mind  is  capable,  and  this  implies  the  conformity  of  the  affec- 
tions to  a  perfect  law. 

What  has  now  been  said  applies  to  particular  affections ; 
but  beauty  of  character,  as  a  whole,  must  include  not  only 
spontaneousness  and  moral  rectitude,  but  also  symmetry. 
There  is  a  tendency  in  spontaneous  movements  to  extrava- 
gance and  wildness.  This  must  be  repressed.  The  river, 
to  be  beautiful,  must  indeed  wind  "  at  its  own  sweet  will," 
but  it  must  wind  within  its  banks.     A  just  proportion  must 


12 

be  preserved  between  the  affections  themselves  and  between 
the  affections  and  the  other  powers.  Symmetry,  involving 
completeness,  is  a  most  important  element  of  beauty  of  char- 
acter. 

With  these  elements,  individual  mind  possesses  a  beauty 
far  transcending  that  of  nature.  And  if  this  be  so  in  a 
single  individual,  how  much  more  in  a  spiritual  system  where 
every  relation  is  responded  to,  and  every  duty  met !  What 
is  the  harmony  of  music  to  the  concord  of  souls  in  a  true 
affection  1  What  is  the  breaking  up  of  light  into  its  seven 
colors  as  it  meets  with  the  surfaces  of  matter,  compared  with 
the  modifications  of  benevolence  as  it  meets  with  the  varying 
forms  of  sensitive  and  intelligent  life  ?  What  is  the  beauty 
of  natural  scenery,  with  its  clustering  objects,  and  contrasted 
flowers  and  trees,  compared  with  the  meeting  of  a  family, 
upon  no  member  of  which  a  stain  rests,  and  where  you  see 
the  gray  hairs  of  the  patriarch,  and  the  infant  of  the  third 
generation  ?  What  is  the  beauty  of  satellites  circling  around 
primaries,  and  primaries  around  the  sun,  compared  with  the 
order  of  families  and  the  state — compared  with  the  order  of 
that  moral  government  of  which  God  is  the  centre  and  sun, 
and  of  which  a  holy  love  is  at  once  the  uniting  force  and  the 
glory  and  beauty. 

Thus  the  strength  and  the  beauty  which  impress  us  most, 
are  the  strength  of  the  will,  and  the  beauty  of  the  affec- 
tions. 

That  the  tendency  already  noticed  of  strength  and  beauty 
in  matter  to  exclude  each  other  extends  also  to  mind,  is 
too  obvious  to  need  illustration  ;  and  it  is  equally  obvious 
that  the  most  desirable  character  can  be  reached  only  as 
these  are  combined  in  the  most  perfect  manner.  And  what 
is  there  that  this  combination  would  not  include  ?  As 
perfect  strength  and  beauty  of  the  body  would  imply  and 
include  all  that  is  desirable  in  the  body,  so  would  perfect 
strength  and  beauty  of  the  mind  and  of  character  include  all 
that  would  be  desirable  in  them.     What  is  there  higher  or 


13 

better  that  we  can  wish  for  our  friends  ?     What  higher  or 
better  at  which  a  young  man  can  aim  ? 

The  question  then  arises,  how  this  combination  can  be 
reached.  And  this  brings  us  directly  to  the  assertion  of  the 
text  that  strength  and  beauty  are  in  his  sanctuary.  Adopting 
its  spiritual  import,  the  doctrine  here  indicated,  and  which  I 
wish  to  enforce,  is,  that  it  is  only  within  the  fold  and  under 
the  banner  of  the  religion  of  Christ,  that  strength  and  beauty 
of  character  can  be  perfectly  combined.  Aside  from  Chris- 
tianity there  may  be  strength  combined  with  the  beauty  of  the 
natural  affections,  but  strength  combined  with  the  highest 
beauty  there  cannot  be. 

That  true  religion  would  produce  this  combination  appears 
because  God  desires  it.  This  desire  he  has  indicated,  as  we 
cannot  doubt,  in  the  structure  of  his  works  already  referred 
to.  Does  he  then  value  strength  and  beauty  in  these  ?  Has 
he  made  them  the  foundation  of  all  that  we  admire,  and  of 
most  that  we  value  in  material  forms  ?  And  shall  he  not 
value  that  in  mind  which  is  so  analogous  as  to  be  called 
by  the  same  name  ?  Yea,  is  not  nature  typical  ?  Was  it 
not  so  constituted  for  the  very  purpose  of  leading  us  on 
gradually  to  ideas  of  this  higher  strength  and  beauty  ?  Is  it 
not  but  as  the  Mosaic  dispensation  to  lead  us  to  something 
higher  and  better  than  itself.''  As  certainly  as  nature  was 
intended  to  lead  us  at  all  to  a  knowledge  of  the  perfections 
of  God,  so  certainly  were  physical  strength  and  beauty  in- 
tended to  reveal  to  us  that  in  Him  which  is  the  substance,  and 
of  which  these  are  but  the  reflection.  Hence,  only  as  there 
is  spiritual  strength  and  beauty,  can  his  own  image  be  pro- 
duced in  his  creatures. 

But  on  this  point,  if  nature  could  leave  us  in  doubt, 
revelation  does  not.  We  are  commanded  to  "  be  strong  in 
the  Lord;"  and  the  Psalmist  prays  that  the  beauty  of  the 
Lord  our  God  may  be  upon  us.  It  is  the  object  of  the 
Saviour  to  present  to  himself  a  glorious  church,  without  spot 


14 

or  wrinkle,  or  any  such  thing.  Does  God  then  desire  this  ? 
Then  must  it  be  the  duty  and  aspiration  of  every  religious 
man  to  strive  for  it.  So  only  is  man  religious,  so  only  enno- 
bled, as  he  strives  in  coincidence  with  the  purposes  and  plans 
of  God — as  he  works  '  according  to  the  pattern  showed 
him  in  the  mount.'  Does  God  desire  this?  Then  will  He 
who  is  the  foundation  of  all  strength  and  beauty  ultimately 
impart  them  to  those,  and  to  those  only,  who  shall  come  to 
Him  for  them.  Thus  coming,  that  process  of  assimilation 
will  take  place,  by  which,  as  they  behold  the  glory  of  the 
Lord,  they  shall  be  changed  into  the  same  image.  Ap- 
proaching the  sun,  they  will  shine  brighter,  and  the  strength 
of  their  movement  will  be  increased.  God  will  clothe  them 
with  strength  and  beauty,  and  thus  these  shall  be  the  com- 
pletion and  glory  of  his  spiritual,  as  they  are  of  his  material 
creation. 

Again.  That  the  religion  of  Christ  must  produce  this 
combination  of  strength  and  beauty,  is  obvious  from  the 
character  of  Christ.  To  be  a  Christian,  a  man  must  not 
only  receive  the  doctrines  and  admire  the  precepts  of  Christ, 
but  must  be  like  him.  He  can  be  a  Christian  only  as  he 
actually  follows  Christ  and  is  like  Christ.  In  this  is  found  a 
grand  peculiarity  of  Christianity  as  distinguished  from  other 
systems.  But  there  has  never  appeared  on  the  earth  any 
character  which  approximated  to  that  of  Christ,  in  the  union 
of  strength  and  beauty.  In  him  we  see  the  strength  of 
achievement,  and  the  strength  of  endurance.  He  moved 
with  a  calm  majesty,  like  the  sun.  The  bloody  sweat,  and 
the  crown  of  thorns,  and  the  cross,  were  full  in  his  eye ;  but 
he  was  obedient  unto  death.  In  his  perfect  self-sacrifice  we 
see  the  perfection  of  strength  ;  in  the  love  which  prompted 
it  we  see  the  perfection  of  beauty.  This  combination  of 
self-sacrifice  and  love,  thus  perfect  in  Christ,  must  be  com- 
menced in  every  Christian  ;  and  when  it  shall  be,  in  its 
spirit,  complete  in  him,  then  will  he  also  be  perfect  in 
strength  and  beauty. 


15 

But  once  more.  That  this  doctrine  is  true,  appears  from 
the  very  nature  of  true  religion.  This  is  no  mere  impulse  ; 
and  strength  of  character  is  not  a  blind  obstinacy,  which,  if 
it  does  show  strength  of  will,  shows  also,  in  equal  proportion, 
weakness  of  intellect.  No  :  an  intelligent  faith  is  at  the 
foundation  of  Christian  character.  .  Such  a  faith  will  "work," 
that  is,  it  will  produce  obedience,  and  it  will  "  work  by 
love."  But  it  is  in  obedience  to  a  perfect  law,  from  love, 
that  we  find  the  highest  expression  of  strength  and  beauty. 
Law  demands  the  approbation  of  the  moral  nature,  and  the 
intelligent  action  of  the  will  in  obedience ;  but  it  comes  as 
an  external  force,  and  when  it  conflicts  with  inclination, 
obedience  will  have  in  it  something  of  constraint ;  it  will 
not  be  perfect  freedom  ;  it  will  be  shorn  of  its  beauty.  But 
let  a  perfect  law  no  longer  stand  without  as  a  law  of  con- 
straint ;  let  it  enter  in  and  become  the  internal  law  of  the 
mind,  so  that  every  inclination  and  current  of  the  soul — all 
its  love — shall  set  in  the  same  direction,  and  then  will  there 
be  a  confluence  of  all  in  man  that  is  rational  and  moral, 
with  all  that  is  emotive- — of  .all  the  elements  which  produce 
strength  with  those  which  produce  beauty.  This  is  the 
consummation  which  the  world  waits  for,  the  deliverance 
and  the  rest.  So  only  can  man  be  at  peace  with"  the  law, 
and  at  peace  with  himself.  So  only  can  the  most  intense 
activity  become  a  harmony  and  a  joy,  become  rest  and  peace. 
So  only  can  the  nuptials  be  celebrated  of  inclination  with 
conscience,  of  liberty  with  law.  It  is  of  the  essence  of 
Christianity  to  produce  this  identification  of  activity  and 
repose,  this  union  of  inclination  and  conscience,  of  liberty 
and  law,  and  thus  of  strength  and  beauty.  So  doing,  it 
must  be  true  ; '  for  it  so  accords  with  the  nature  of  man  as  to 
embosom  his  highest  good  here,  and  to  contain  the  elements 
of  heaven.  If  it  be  not  true,  falsehood  is  as  good  as  truth, 
for  no  truth  could  more  demonstrably  save  man.  Starting 
with  these  combinations,  the  immortal  spirit  will  need  nothing 
but  the  expansion  of  its  powers  to  enable  it  to  move  on  in 


'    16 

its  unending  way  with  the  strength  of  a  giant  and  the  beauty 
of  an  angel. 

This  is  a  point  on  which  we  may  well  dwell.  You  know, 
my  hearers,  what  a  terror  to  us  law  is,  especially  the  law  of 
God  ;  how  severe  and  onerous,  even  while  it  commends 
itself  to  the  conscience,  its  requisitions  seem.  You  know 
what  that  fear  of  its  penalty  is  that  hath  torment.  Now, 
could  we  come  to  see  the  stern  features  of  this  law  so  radiant 
with  loveliness  that  we  would  not  have  one  of  them  changed ; 
could  we  see  within  its  domain  such  a  perfection  of  holiness 
and  of  happiness  that  no  wish  would  stray  beyond  that 
domain ;  could  we  adopt  this  external  law  as  the  law  of  the 
mind,  so  that  it  should  become  the  life  of  our  life,  how  plain 
is  it  that  all  the  harmonies  of  the  soul  would  be  restored, 
and  that  in  its  every  movement  there  would  be  strength  and 
beauty.  But  this  enthronement  of  the  law  of  God,  or  as  I 
would  choose  to  say,  of  the  God  of  the  law,  in  the  centre  of 
the  affections,  must  come  from  a  perfect  Christianity — it  can 
come  from  that  alone  ;  no  other  system  even  proposes  to 
itself  such  a  result ;  and  hence  we  may  regard  the  doctrine 
as  established,  that  strength  and  beauty  are  in  his  sanctuary, 
and  only  there. 

But  if  this  be  so,  it  may  be  asked  why  more  of  moral 
beauty  has  not  been  manifested  in  the  lives  of  Christians. 
It  is  well  known  that  evangelical  religion  especially  has  been 
regarded  by  some  as  distasteful,  and  the  lives  of  its  professors 
as  severe,  and  harsh,  and  the  reverse  of  beautiful. 

To  this  two  answers  may  be  given.  The  first  is  that  the 
real  beauty  of  Christian  character  that  exists  is  not  known, 
nor  appreciated.  It  is  not  known, — for  this  is  no  conserva- 
tory plant  fostered  by  human  culture  and  admiration.  It 
springs  up  under  the  eye  of  God  on  the  mountain-side,  and 
in  the  retired  valley.  For  Him  it  blooms,  and  He  who 
notices  the  violet  that  no  human  eye  ever  sees  will  notice 
this.  It  is  not  appreciated, — for  the  standards  of  this  world 
are    wrong.      The    beauty    which   the    world    admires    and 


17 

idolizes,  is  that  beauty  of  fashion  and  of  art  which  may 
minister  to  vanity,  to  sensuality,  to  superstition — that  beauty 
of  manners  which  may  cover  a  corrupt  heart — and  that 
beauty  of  nature  which  may  become  a  part  of  a  pervading 
pantheism.  To  these  the  Christian  would  give  their  due 
place,  but  he  thinks  little  of  them  compared  with  the  beauty 
of  the  affections  and  the  life.  To  him  the  character  of  Christ 
is  supremely  beautiful.  He  is  the  "  chief  among  ten  thou- 
sand," but  how  is  he  to  the  Avorld  ?  It  was  foretold  of  Him, 
perfect  in  beauty  as  his  character  was,  that  he  should  be  a 
root  out  of  dry  ground,  and  that  when  we  should  see  him 
there  would  be  no  beauty  in  him  that  we  should  desire  him. 
This  was  fulfilled.  The  beauty  of  the  character  of  Christ 
was  not  appreciated  in  his  own  day  ;  it  is  not  now ;  and  it  is 
to  be  expected  that  the  disciple  shall  be  as  his  Lord.  It 
cannot  be  expected  that  the  selfish,  the  sensual,  the  ambi- 
tious, the  proud,  the  vain,  or  the  frivolous  should  admire 
that  which  is  so  opposed  to  their  own  temper  and  character. 
Especially  cannot  this  be  expected  when  holiness  lays  aside 
its  abstract  form,  and  is  seen  in  actual  life  opposing  and  cast- 
ing down  cherished  corruptions  and  interests.  Then,  instead 
of  admiration  and  praise,  all  history  shows  that  moral  good- 
ness and  beauty  are  vilified ;  they  are  cast  out  as  evil ;  are 
persecuted  and  crucified.  What  do  bigoted  persecutors  and 
infuriated  mobs  know  or  care  about  moral  beauty  ? 

A  second  answer  is,  that  Christianity  is  here  but  incipient, 
militant,  imperfect.  It  begins  in  repentance,  in  tears,  in 
struggles  against  sin,  in  self-denial  and  renunciation  of  what 
the  heart  had  clung  to.  In  this  state  of  struggle  there  is  a 
beauty  to  the  eye  of  God,  but  not  to  that  of  the  world.  But 
beyond  this  there  are  many  Christians  who  do  not  get — nay, 
they  seem  to  cease  to  struggle,  and  stereotype  a  form  and 
aspect  of  religion  fit  for  neither  a  sinner  nor  a  saint,  that  is 
neither  of  the  law  nor  the  gospel.  There  is  in  it  slavery  and 
penance.  The  face  of  duty  is  austere.  They  abstain  from 
gayety,  from  fashion  and  folly,  too  much  through  fear,  or  con- 


18 

ventionalism.  They  have  no  consistency.  They  attend  church 
on  the  Sabbath,  but  show  little  of  the  spirit  of  religion  during 
the  week.  They  have  more  of  the  form  of  religion,  than  of 
the  spirit  of  benevolence.  The  love  of  the  world  in  them  is 
not  slain  by  the  cross  of  Christ.  There  is  no  free  and  full 
and  joyful  consecration  of  themselves  to  God.  They  know 
nothing  of  the  "joy  of  the  Lord  "  as  their  strength.  But 
religion, — if  anything  with  a  preponderance  of  these  elements 
can  be  called  such, — can  be  beautiful  only  as  the  conditions 
of  beauty  are  met.  It  must  be  from  the  heart,  and  it  must  be 
symmetrical.  The  miserable  notion  of  duty  as  imposing  tasks, 
which  is  so  prevalent,  must  pass  away.  Every  thing  harsh  and 
austere  must  vanish  from  her  countenance.  The  Christian 
must  look  upon  her  with  the  eye  of  a  lover.  At  her  voice 
his  heart  must  throb,  and  his  chest  heave ;  her  call  must  be  to 
him  as  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  to  the  war-horse.  Then 
would  each  individual  Christian  have  not  only  strength,  but 
beauty  ;  and  that  conception  in  Holy  Writ  of  the  embodied 
church,  so  beautiful,  and  so  accordant  with  the  spirit  of  our 
text,  would  be  realized.  In  her  beauty  she  would  be  "  fair 
as  the  moon  and  clear  as  the  sun,"  and  in  her  strength  she 
would  be  "  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners." 

In  the  preceding  discussion,  a  distinction  has  been  indi- 
cated between  that  strength  and  beauty  of  the  faculties  which 
belong  to  genius  and  talent  and  taste,  and  that  strength  and 
beauty  of  character  which  involve  moral  excellence.  This 
distinction  is,  perhaps,  sufficiently  obvious ;  but  genius  and 
talent  have  been,  and  still  are,  so  much  deified,  and  have  cast 
such  an  illusive  attraction  around  moral  deformity,  that  I 
wish  to  draw  to  it  particular  attention. 

The  distinction  is  that  between  the  agent  and  the  instru- 
ment, between  a  person  giving  direction  and  that  which  is 
directed.  This  relative  place  of  these  is  to  be  carefully 
noticed,  because  of  the  peculiar  difficulty  there  is,  in  the 
present  moral  state  of  the  world,  in  combining   talent  and 


19 

genius  with  a  high  and  reverent  regard  for  duty.  This  is 
not  that  there  is  any  natural  opposition  between  them,  but 
because  that  admiration  and  influence  which  are  so  dear  to 
men  possessing  talent  and  genius,  are  expected  to  follow  them 
without  much  reference  to  moral  integrity.  Now  what  we 
say,  is,  that  we  are  not  to  over-estimate  the  mere  instrument, 
however  brilliant.  We  say  that  our  chief  regard  is  due  to 
that  sacred  personality,  that  moral  presence,  which  has  both 
the  power'  and  the  right  to  direct  talent  and  genius,  and  be- 
fore which  it  is  their  place  to  wait  and  to  bow.  We  say  that 
in  any  other  relation  talent  is  a  curse,  and  that  the  light  of 
genius  can  only  "lead  to  bewilder,  and  dazzle  to  blind."  We 
would  honor  genius  and  talent  as  gifts  of  God ;  Ave  would 
make  large  allowance,  if  they  must  have  them,  or  think  they 
must,  for  their  peculiarities,  their  idiosyncrasies,  their  weak- 
nesses even ;  but  when  those  who  possess  them  would  regard 
themselves,  and  be  regarded  by  others,  as  privileged  persons, 
whose  moral  delinquencies  are  to  be  allowed  or  winked  at, 
and  that,  too,  on  the  very  ground  that  should  be  their  highest 
condemnation,  we  would  utter  our  solemn  protest.  We  say 
that  the  influence  of  no  other  men  can  be  so  hostile  to  the 
best  •  interests  of  the  community — if  they  be  public  men,  to 
the  liberties  of  a  free  people.  We  say  that  no  rebuke  can  be 
too  prompt  or  severe  when  any  man  would  practically  dignify 
or  even  palliate  meanness,  or  trickery,  or  falsehood,  or  pro- 
faneness,  or  licentiousness,  or  corruption,  by  associating  them 
with  high  intellectual  gifts.  In  the  judgment  of  God,  nothing 
can  compensate  for  the  want  of  moral  strength  and  beauty 
of  character ;  in  comparison  with  these,  every  thing  else  is  as 
nothing.  This  should  be  so  in  the  judgment  of  man,  and 
to  this  position  we  would  fain  hope  that  public  opinion  is 
slowly  finding  its  way. 

This  discussion,  which  I  now  close,  is  my  last  labor  for 
you,  my  dear  Friends  of  the  Graduating  Class,  in  my  rela- 
tion to  you,   which  has  been  so   pleasant  to    me,   as   your 


20 

instructor.  If,  in  the  course  of  your  education,  with  us 
hitherto,  more  direct  labor  has  been  bestowed  on  your 
literary  acquisitions,  yet  our  chief  anxiety  has  been  for  your 
character.  That  is  the  great  thing.  On  that  your  happiness 
and  influence  here  will  mainly  depend ;  by  that  your  whole 
interest,  under  the  government  of  God,  will  be  ultimately 
decided.  My  object  in  this  discourse  has  been  to  bring  to 
your  definite  apprehension  a  standard  of  character  at  which 
you  might  safely  aim,  and  to  show  you  how  that  standard 
might  be  reached.  I  have  wished  to  give  you  a  motto  to  be 
inscribed  upon  your  banner,  which  might  give  you  strength 
in  the  hour  of  conflict.  And  what  can  I  give  you  better 
than  strength  and  beauty  1  What  can  you  do  better  than  to 
seek  the  highest  combinations  of  these  in  the  characters  you 
are  to  form  and  to  manifest  ? 

And  in  doing  this,  you  are  not  to  suppose,  from  any  thing 
that  has  been  said,  that  you  will  be  laboring  to  blend  things 
that  are  naturally  opposed  to  each  other.  No ;  in  the 
deepest  view  of  them  they  are  but  the  varying  forms  of  the 
manifestation  of  one  force.  They  are  not  one  as  opposite 
polar  forces  are  one  ;  but  strength,  though  not  necessarily 
manifesting  itself  in  the  form  of  beauty,  though  it  has  a 
centrifugal  force  that  tends  to  carry  it  off  from  its  true  curve, 
does  yet  underlie  it,  and  is  essential  to  the  formation  of  that 
curve.  Kightly  directed,  strength  seems  to  attenuate  and 
expand  itself  into  beauty  as  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  which  is 
strong,  attenuates  and  expands  itself  into  the  branches  and 
the  leaves,  which  are  beautiful.  It  is  strength  alone  that 
can  elaborate  itself  into  beauty  ;  and  only  as  it  does  this  can 
we  have  evidence  of  the  perfection  of  strength.  The  ex- 
quisite finish  of  the  leaf  of  the  tulip,  is  from  the  circulation 
within  it  of  the  divine  omnipotence,  and  is  as  essential  to  the 
perfect  evidence  for  that,  as  the  spheres  that  roll  above.  So 
can  you  give  the  highest  evidence  of  strength  of  character 
only  as  that  strength  can  so  restrain  and  control  its  own 
workings   as   to   elaborate   itself  into  beauty.     The  strength 


21 

that  we  want  is  not  a  brute,  unregulated  strength ;  the 
beauty  that  we  want  is  no  mere  surface  beauty,  but  we  want 
a  beauty  on  the  surface  of  life  that  is  from  the  central  force 
of  principle  within,  as  the  beauty  on  the  cheek  of  health  is 
from  the  central  force  at  the  heart.  This  is  the  combination 
and  the  character  that  the  world  needs,  that  you  need. 
Going  forth  with  this,  the  wildernesses  and  solitary  places  of 
the  earth  will  be  glad  for  you.  With  this  you  will  fill,  up 
to  the  measure  of  expectation,  and  beyond  it,  every  position 
of  domestic  and  social  and  public  life.  You  will  be  more 
appreciated  as  you  are  more  known.  The  natural  influence 
of  uncommon  powers  or  acquisitions  will  not  be  hindered  or 
marred  by  those  sad  blemishes  that  every  body  must  speak  of 
in  a  whisper,  but  that  every  body  will  know.  If  you  should 
have  greatness  of  character,  it  will  not  shoot  up  into  those 
isolated  and  startling  peaks  that  attract  notice  indeed,  but  are 
barren  ;  but  it  will  rise  up  into  those  broad  table  lands  that 
are  covered  with  verdure,  and  where  the  springs  arise  that 
gladden  the  valleys.  You  will  work  in  harmony  with  God, 
and  He  will  give  you  success. 

But  you  are  to  remember  that  the  strength  and  beauty 
that  can  do  this  are  not  those  of  nature.  The  strength  is  the 
strength  of  faith,  and  the  beauty  is  the  beauty  of  holiness. 
As  I  have  said,  it  is  only  through  the  religion  of  Christ  that 
this  combination  can  be  reached.  Here  is  our  only  hope. 
But  through  this  it  may  be  reached.  We  bless  God  for  the 
hope  that  to  reach  this,  is,  in  the  hearts  of  some  of  you,  the 
controlling  aspiration.  We.  bless  him  for  the  hope,  that  to 
some  of  you  it  has  become  so  recently.  We  would  re- 
member and  signalize,  in  this  parting  hour,  the  grace  that 
has  effected  this.  But  if  this  be  so  with  some,  why  should 
it  not  be  with  all  ?  This  combination  of  strength  and  beauty 
you  may  all  reach,  every  one  of  you :  and  eye  hath  not  seen, 
nor  ear  heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to 
conceive  the  blessings  that  will  flow  from  it  in  the  track  of 
ages.     Other  strength  will  decay,  other  beauty  will  fade,  but 


22 

this  strength  will  only  grow  stronger  and  this  beauty  more 
beautiful  as  eternity  shall  roll  on.  "  They  that  wait  on  the 
Lord  shall  renew  their  strength ;  they  shall  mount  up  with 
wings  as  eagles,  they  shall  run  and  not  be  weary,  they  shall 
walk  and  not  faint ; "  and  "  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  "  their 
"  God  shall  be  upon  them."  This,  my  Beloved  Friends, 
this  is  the  strength,  and  this  the  beauty  that  I  desire  for  you. 
In  your  characters  may  they  be  blended,  and  in  all  the 
pilgrimage  of  life  that  is  now  before  you,  may  you  be  girded 
with  strength  from  on  high,  and  may  the  beauty  of  the  Lord 
your  God  be  upon  you. 


RECEIVING    AND    GIVING. 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,  MASS. 


AUGUST    15,    1852 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D. 

PRESIDENT    OF   WILLIAMS    COLLEGE. 


SECOND     ED  ITION. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS    OF    T.   R.  MARVIN,   42   CONGRESS    STREET. 
1855. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852, 

By  T.  R.  ]\Iarvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


ACTS    xx.    35. 

IT   IS    MORE    BLESSED   TO   GIVE   THAN   TO    RECEIVE. 

As  a  dependent  being,  man  is,  and  must  be, 
a  receiver.  From  God  he  must  receive  life  and 
breath,  and  all  things ;  and  no  one  can  so  elevate 
or  isolate  himself,  that  he  shall  not  need  to  receive 
from  his  fellow  men  those  things  which  only  their 
sympathy  and  kindness  can  bestow. 

Man  being  thus  necessarily  a  receiver,  we  should 
anticipate,  from  the  goodness  of  God,  that  it  would 
be  blessed  for  him  to  receive.  And  so  it  is.  It  is 
blessed  for  the  creature  to  receive  from  the  Creator. 
It  is  blessed  not  only  from  the  enjoyment  which  the 
gift  itself  may  confer,  but  as  awakening  admiration, 
and  gratitude,  and  love.  It  is  blessed  for  the  child 
to  receive  from  the  parent,  for  the  friend  to  receive 
from  his  friend.  It  is  always  blessed  to  receive 
when  the  gift  is  born  of  affection. 

This  blessedness  our  Saviour  knew.  We  are  told 
that  Mary  Magdalene,  and  Joanna  the  wife  of 
Chuza,  Herod's  steward,  and  Susanna,  and  many 
others,  ministered  to  him  of  their  substance.  He 
received  of  them  what  he  needed,  and,  so  far  as 
appears,  he  consented  thus  to  receive  at  the  hands 


4 

of  gratitude  and  affection,  and  was  doubtless  blessed 
in  so  receiving,  his  whole  support. 

But  if  it  is  thus  blessed  to  receive,  it  is  more 
blessed  to  give.  This  is  one  of  those  great  truths, 
uttered  by  our  Saviour,  opposed  to  the  whole  spirit 
and  practice  of  the  age  in  which  he  appeared, 
which,  like  his  inculcation  of  the  forgiveness  of 
enemies,  and  universal  philanthropy,  and  seeking 
first  the  kingdom  of  God,  showed  a  divine  insight. 
It  is  a  great  practical  truth,  which,  as  it  is  received 
or  rejected,  must  affect  the  whole  spirit  and  all  the 
results  of  life. 

This  blessedness  was  that  pre-eminently  known 
by  our  Saviour.  "  The  Son  of  man  came,  not  to  be 
ministered  unto,  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  his  life 
a  ransom  for  many."  He  gave,  not  property,  but 
himself.  He  gave  instruction,  and  gifts  of  healing, 
and  a  divine  sympathy.  He  gave  the  energies  of 
his  being  in  activity  and  in  suffering  for  the  welfare 
of  man. 

But  here  the  inquiry  arises,  what  it  is  to  give. 
As  now  used  this  term  carries  the  mind  chiefly,  if 
not  wholly,  to  property ;  but  this  cannot  be  its 
main  reference  in  the  text,  for  then  neither  Christ 
nor  his  Apostles,  would  have  illustrated  their  own 
precepts,  or  have  known,  to  any  great  extent,  the 
blessedness  of  giving.  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that 
no  direct  record  is  made,  that  either  Christ  or  his 
Apostles  ever  gave  any  thing  in  the  form  of  property  ; 
and  that  would  be  a  sad  interpretation  which  would 
restrict  the  pleasures  and  benefits  of  giving,  to  the 
rich.  To  give,  is  not  merely  to  transfer  property 
without  an   equivalent   from  him  who  receives  it. 


This  may  be  done  from  a  regard  to  public  opinion, 
to  quiet  conscience,  to  purchase  heaven,  to  get  free 
from  annoyance.  Property  is  not  affection,  it  is  not 
self-sacrificing  energy,  it  is  not  the  heart  or  the  life. 
No  ;  to  give,  is  to  impart  benefits  freely,  out  of  good 
will.  This  Christ  and  his  Apostles  did.  Said  Peter 
to  the  impotent  man,  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none, 
but  such  as  I  have  give  I  thee.  In  the  name  of 
Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth,  rise  up  and  walk."  Here 
was  a  gift  which  money  could  not  purchase,  and 
such  were  all  those  great  gifts  which  Christ  came 
to  bring.  Thus  understood,  the  pleasures  and  ben- 
efits of  giving  are  open  to  all,  even  to  her  who  is 
poorer  than  the  poor  widow  who  cast  in  her  two 
mites.  All  can  impart  benefits  of  some  kind,  freely 
and  from  good  will  ;  and  the  proposition  which  we 
now  wish  to  illustrate  is,  that  thus  to  give  is  more 
blessed  than  it  is  to  receive. 

That  this  is  so  may  appear,  first,  because  God  is 
a  giver  only,  and  not  a  receiver.  Of  the  modes  and 
conditions  of  the  divine  blessedness  we  know,  indeed, 
very  little.  To  our  conception,  God  must  have  been 
perfectly  blessed  in  himself,  when,  as  yet,  no  crea- 
tive act  had  rendered  the  blessedness  of  giving  pos- 
sible. We  must  conceive  of  God  as  self-sufficing 
in  all  respects,  as  having  within  himself  the  spring 
of  his  own  activity,  and  finding  in  that  activity  the 
source  of  his  blessedness.  Without  activity  in  some 
form,  blessedness  is  inconceivable,  for  absolute  quies- 
cence is  death.  But  if  we  know  little  of  the  modes 
of  activity  possible  to  God,  and  hence  of  the  modes 
of  his  blessedness,  we  may  yet  be  sure  that  in  all 
the  forms  of  that  activity  there  is   blessedness,  and 


pre-eminent  blessedness  in  those  which  are  pre- 
eminently his.  But,  as  has  been  said,  he  manifests 
himself  only  as  a  giver.  He  is  so  in  creation.  To 
the  universe  of  matter,  overwhelming  us  as  it  does 
by  its  vastness  and  variety  and  glory,  he  gave  its 
being.  From  the  resources  of  his  own  omnipotence 
he  caused  that  which  was  not,  to  be,  and  no  doubt 
there  was  a  sublime  blessedness  not  only  in  the 
result,  when  he  beheld  and  pronounced  it  good,  but 
also  in  the  energy  by  which  it  was  accomplished. 
And  having  created  this  universe  with  all  its  prop- 
erties and  adjustments,  he  gave  it  to  his  sensitive 
and  rational  creatures  to  be  the  theatre  of  their 
being  and  a  source  of  enjoyment.  To  the  sensitive 
and  spiritual  Universe  also,  through  all  its  ranks, 
from  the  insect  up  to  the  seraph,  God  has  given 
being,  with  its  infinite  diversity  of  forms,  and  modes 
of  perception,  and  capacities,  and  responsibilities. 
Throughout  the  universe  there  is  nothing  that  any 
being  is,  or  that  he  possesses,  that  is  not  the  gift  of 
God.  And  not  only  has  God  given  in  creating,  but 
he  gives  continually.  Whatever  we  may  say  of 
second  causes,  he  is  the  constant  upholder  and  gov- 
ernor of  all  things,  the  ever  present,  conscious  giver 
of  every  good  and  perfect  gift.  This  is  the  highest 
conception  we  can  form  of  any  being,  that  he 
should  not  only  have  the  spring  of  activity  within 
himself  and  be  self-sufficing,  but  that  he  should 
suffice  for  a  universe,  and  find  a  conscious  blessed- 
ness in  giving  without  limit  and  without  exhaustion 
forevermore.  Here  we  find  a  conception  that  bears 
us  far  above  the  glories  of  night,  and  of  all  tele- 
scopic heavens.     Here  we  find  the   source  of  the 


river  of  the  water  of  life,  clear  as  crystal,  that  over- 
flows and  sparkles  and  spreads  itself  to  the  outmost 
limits  of  the  creation.  What  are  the  starry  heavens 
to  Him  who  is  enthroned  as  the  infinite  and  only 
original  giver  in  this  limitless  universe  ! 

To  give  thus  without  exhaustion,  would  seem  to 
be  the  natural  prerogative  of  God  ;  but  there  is  also 
a  form  of  giving  that  implies  self-denial  and  self- 
sacrifice  ;  it  implies  that  we  forego  a  good  for  the 
sake  of  the  good  of  others.  How  this  may  be 
compatible  with  what  we  conceive  of  the  infinite 
and  perfect  blessedness  of  God,  it  may  not  be  easy 
to  see  ;  but  that  he  is  capable  of  this  form  of  giving, 
the  Scriptures  plainly  assert  when  they  say,  that 
He  "  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  Son."  Possibly  the  highest  blessedness 
of  a  benevolent  being  can  be  known  only  through 
self-sacrifice.  Blessedness  is  more  than  pleasure ; 
it  is  the  consciousness  and  exercise  of  the  highest 
goodness.  This  is  the  highest  form  of  giving,  and 
constitutes  Christ  the  great  gift  of  God.  It  makes 
him  not  merely  the  outflow  of  his  natural  attributes, 
but  the  manifestation  of  his  heart. 

And  while  God  thus  gives,  he  does  not  receive. 
"  Who  hath  first  given  unto  Him  and  it  shall  be 
recompensed  to  him  again  ?  "  By  the  right  of  an 
original  creation,  and  of  a  constant  preservation,  all 
things  are  already  his.  "  He  is  not  worshiped  with 
men's  hands  as  though  he  needed  any  thing,  seeing 
he  giveth  to  all  life,  and  breath,  and  all  things." 
He  may  be  said  to  accept  of  our  services  ;  that  is, 
he  may  be  pleased  with  our  dutiful  affection,  but 
we  can  bestow  upon  him  no  gift ;  he  can  receive 


8 

nothing  from  us  so  as  to  become  the  owner  of  that 
which  was  not  his  before.  We  can  never  requite 
him  by  paying  back  an  equivalent ;  we  can  lay  him 
under  no  obligation. 

If  then  God  finds  his  own  blessedness  in  giving, 
and  not  at  all  in  receiving,  we  should  naturally 
expect,  that  those  who  are  made  in  his  image  would 
find  it  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

But,  secondly,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  mention 
that  this  is  one  of  those  great  truths  which  seem  to 
find  their  prefiguration  and  twilight  in  the  material 
creation.  The  sun,  the  grandest  and  noblest  of  all 
material  objects,  is  only  a  giver.  Age  after  age, 
from  his  high  place,  he  imparts,  without  exhaustion, 
light  and  heat,  and  receives  nothing  in  return.  In 
the  coldness  of  our  philosophy  we  say,  indeed,  that 
this  involves  no  blessedness.  This  is  true,  just  as  it 
is  true  that  there  is  no  color  spread  over  the  surface 
of  bodies  ;  and  yet  is  the  sun  a  silent  preacher  of  a 
truth  that  is  not  in  him,  because  we  are  so  made 
that  we  must  diffuse  over  matter  our  own  concep- 
tions and  vitalize  it  with  our  feelings.  Let  the 
natural  emotions  speak,  and  they  say  at  once,  that 
the  sun  is  "  as  a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his 
chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a 
race."  We  attribute  to  this  sublime  body  power 
and  dignity,  and  feel  that,  if  it  were  conscious,  it 
must  rejoice  in  its  greatness  and  in  its  dispensing 
power.  This  teaching  becomes  more  impressive  by 
contrast.  The  sun  gives  only ;  the  sandy  desert 
only  receives,  and  hence  we  regard  it  with  aversion, 
and  as  fit  only  to  symbolize  the  drearier  desert  of  a 
heart  thoroughly  selfish  and  absorbing. 


But  1  observe,  thirdly,  that  this  truth  is  en- 
stamped  upon  our  very  constitution  ;  it  grows  out 
of  the  frame-work  of  our  being. 

To  see  this,  we  have  only  to  examine  a  little  the 
kinds  and  sources  of  the  blessedness  of  which  we 
are  capable.  As  has  been  said,  all  blessedness 
must  come  from  activity ;  and  of  this  there  may  be 
three  kinds.  One  of  these  we  need  not  consider, 
because  there  is  in  it  nothing  of  giving  or  receiving. 
It  is  the  activity  of  the  mind  within  itself,  in  con- 
templation and  thought,  when  it  receives  no  im- 
pression from  without,  and  puts  forth  no  outward 
activity.  Laying  this  aside  then,  we  find  that 
man  is  a  centre  of  activities,  from  which  influences, 
originating  in  his  will,  flow  outward,  and  affect  the 
world  without ;  and  also  that  he  is  a  centre  of  sus- 
ceptibilities, to  which  influences  flow  in  from  the 
world  without,  and  by  which  he  is  affected.  In 
the  first  case  he  is  truly  active,  putting  forth  powers, 
and  may  be  said,  in  a  large  sense,  to  give  ;  in  the 
second,  he  is  as  passive  as  a  perceiving  and  sentient 
being  can  be,  and  he  receives. 

It  is  in  conformity  with  this  general  idea  that  the 
physical  frame,  even,  is  constructed.  The  nervous 
system  is  a  railway  with  a  double  track.  It  is  now 
well  known  that  there  are  two  sets  of  nerves,  those 
of  motion,  and  those  of  sensation,  running  side  by 
side,  apparently  intimately  blended,  yet  entirely  dis- 
tinct in  their  origin  and  office,  by  one  of  which  influ- 
ences pass  from  within  outward,  and  by  the  other 
from  without  inward ;  by  one  of  which  we  receive, 
and  by  the  other,  give.  By  the  one,  we  receive 
materials  of  instruction,  and  impressions  pleasing  or 


10 

painful ;  by  the  other,  we  exert  our  wills  as  agents, 
and  give  forth  our  own  proper  activity. 

When  we  open  our  eyes  to  the  light,  when  we 
behold  the  trees  and  the  mountains,  the  waters  and 
the  flowers,  the  stars  and  works  of  art,  we  receive ; 
when  there  comes  to  us  the  perfume  of  flowers,  or 
the  fragrance  of  the  new-made  hay,  we  receive  ; 
when  we  taste  the  strawberry,  the  peach,  the 
melon,  we  receive  ;  when  we  hear  the  song  of 
birds,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  the  rippling  of  waters, 
or  the  music  of  the  flute  or  of  the  voice,  we  re- 
ceive ;  when  we  open  our  minds,  through  the  senses, 
to  thoughts  and  impressions  from  others,  we  receive. 
Here  the  movement  is  from  without,  inward  ;  and 
if  no  folly  or  wickedness  intervene,  it  is  always 
blessed,  and  only  blessed,  thus  to  receive. 

To  this  process  God  has  attached  pleasure,  as  he 
has  to  that  of  receiving  food,  but  both  the  process 
and  the  pleasure  are  as  clearly  subordinate  in  one 
case  as  in  the  other.  We  receive  food  that  the 
body  may  be  built  up  and  strengthened,  and  the 
pleasure  is  incidental.  So  here,  the  object  of  the 
importing  railway,  or  rather  railways,  is  to  bring  to 
the  mind  those  materials  upon  which  it  may  work 
and  be  strengthened,  which  may  be  elaborated  into 
speech  and  action  and  enable  man  to  become  a 
giver,  freighting  the  outward  railway  with  the  pro- 
ducts of  knowledge  and  of  love. 

This  last  is  the  true  sphere  of  man.  He  was 
not  made  to  be  merely  a  passive  receiver  of  pleas- 
ure, a  bundle  of  sensibilities,  to  be  madly  wasted  or 
artistically  and  prudently  exhausted,  beginning  with 
a  fountain  full  and   sparkling,  and  ending,  as  all 


11 

mere  pleasure  must,  with  the  vapid  and  bitter  dregs 
of  decay  and  exhaustion.  He  was  made  to  be  an 
agent,  with  powers  having  the  spring  of  their  ac- 
tivity within  themselves,  and  having  it  for  their 
law  that  they  shall  increase  in  strength  by  their 
own  legitimate  activity.  This  it  is  that  allies  man 
to  the  angels,  and  makes  him  of  inappreciable 
worth,  and  fits  him  to  become  increasingly  a  giver, 
and  to  walk  with  waxing  strength  in  an  upward 
path,  even  the  path  of  the  just,  that  shineth  more 
and  more  unto  the  perfect  day.  This  it  is  in  man 
that  lays  the  foundation  for  that  most  magnificent 
of  all  figures,  used  by  our  Saviour  concerning  the. 
righteous,  that  they  shall  shine  forth  as  the  sun  in 
the  kingdom  of  their  Father. 

But  if  this  be  so,  if  the  sphere  of  activity  and  of 
giving  be  higher  than  that  of  passivity  and  of  re- 
ceiving, then  must  it  be  more  blessed  to  give  than 
to  receive ;  for  where  should  any  being  find  his 
highest  blessedness  but  in  the  legitimate  exercise  of 
his  highest  powers  ?  This  is  the  law  of  all  beings  ; 
so,  and  so  only,  can  their  highest,  blessedness  be 
reached. 

Intimately  as  the  pleasures  of  receptivity  and  of 
activity  are  blended,  we  yet  find  in  the  distinction 
just  drawn,  a  line  of  cleavage  dividing  the  race  into 
two  classes.  To  the  one  belong  the  lovers  and 
seekers  of  pleasure  as  distinguished  from  blessed- 
ness or  happiness  ;  for  pleasure  arises  from  some 
congruity  between  us  and  that  which  is  without. 
In  it  the  movement  is  from  without,  inward,  and 
we  are  receivers.  The  lovers  of  pleasure  are  those 
who  make  it  their  business  to  find  that  without 


12 

them,  which  shall  act  on  their  susceptibilities  and 
minister  to  their  passive  enjoyment.  To  seek  this 
predominatingly  is  the  fatal  mistake  and  besetting 
sin  of  most.  To  do  so  is  compatible  with  the 
highest  forms  of  civilization  and  of  worldly  respect- 
ability. It  rather  implies  the  cultivation  and  pat- 
ronage of  the  elegancies  and  refinements  of  life, 
and  skill  in  the  most  agreeable  forms  which  self- 
love  and  selfishness  can  assume.  The  elite  of  the 
class  may  worship  beauty  and  art,  but  the  mass 
will  worship  sensual  pleasure.  What  they  seek  for 
on  earth  is  the  highest  combination  of  these,  and 
they  would  desire  no  heaven  but  a  Mohammedan 
paradise.  Give  them  the  means  of  gratification, 
and  they  are  courteous,  liberal  and  tolerant ;  inter- 
fere with  these,  and  they  are  intolerant,  deceitful, 
malignant,  cruel ;  and  thus  vices  and  cruelties  more 
shocking  than  those  of  barbarism  may  mingle  and 
alternate  with  the  highest  forms  of  luxury  and  re- 
finement. With  such  an  object  of  life,  immortality 
and  accountability  disappear  from  its  back-ground, 
and  its  value  is  estimated  in  sensations  ;  the  indi- 
vidual loses  his  self-respect  and  his  confidence  in 
others ;  and  though  society  may  seem  to  be  crowned 
with  verdure  and  flowers  to  its  summit,  yet  that 
summit  will  be  the  crater  of  a  volcano. 

Those,  on  the  other  hand,  who  make  their  activi- 
ties the  basis  of  their  character,  seeking  blessedness 
rather  than  pleasure,  need,  indeed,  to  have  those 
activities  rightly  directed ;  but  they  are  on  a  basis 
which  is  capable  of  sustaining  the  highest  and  most 
solid  structure  of  individual  and  social  greatness  and 
blessedness. 


13 

We  have  now  considered  man  as  having  sensi- 
bilities on  the  one  hand,  and  a  will  on  the  other, — 
a  receptivity  and  an  activity  in  correspondence  with 
which  his  physical  frame  is  formed.  But  we  find 
a  similar  correspondence  of  faculties  in  the  mind 
itself,  with  no  corresponding  physical  organization. 
Man  has  not  only  sensibilities  and  a  will,  but  also 
desires  and  affections  ;  and  as  he  receives  by  his 
sensibilities  and  gives  by  his  will,  so  does  he  receive 
by  his  desires  and  give  by  his  affections. 

Having  shown  that  to  give  forth  activity  and 
influence  is  higher  and  more  blessed  than  to  receive 
impressions,  we  may  now  leave  behind  us,  in  our 
search  for  the  highest  blessedness,  all  mere  passive 
enjoyment,  and,  while  we  estimate  that  at  its 
proper  value,  consider  only  the  different  forms  of 
activity.  All  activity  from  within,  outward,  can  be 
regarded  as  a  form  of  giving  only  in  the  wide  sense 
already  mentioned  ;  but  all  giving  is  a  form  of  ac- 
tivity that  springs  from  the  affections,  and  we  say 
that  this  is  more  blessed  than  any  form  of  receiving 
through  the  desires. 

It  is  of  the  very  nature  of  the  affections  that  they 
give,  and  of  the  desires  that  they  receive.  The 
affections  have  persons  for  their  object ;  they  arise 
in  view  of  worth  or  worthiness  in  them,  real  or 
supposed,  and  we  seem  in  their  exercise  to  give 
our  very  being.  They  are  disinterested,  they  flow 
out  from  us,  they  give,  and  appropriate  nothing. 
That  is  not  affection  which  is  not  disinterested,  and 
it  is  only  because  this  is  not  a  world  of  open  vision 
that  any  outward  token,  flowing  from  a  secret  re- 
gard to  self,  can  ever  be  supposed  to  give  evidence 


14 

of  affection.  In  the  sphere  of  affection  every  out- 
ward token  is  valued  as  the  evidence  of  a  gift  more 
precious  than  itself.  When  we  give  affection  we 
truly  give  ;  and  what  is  commonly  called  giving,  is 
really  so  only  as  it  is  an  evidence  of  this. 

The  desires,  on  the  other  hand,  have,  as  their 
distinguishing  characteristics,  that  they  appropriate 
to  themselves  the  things  desired,  and  that  their 
object  is  things  and  not  persons.  They  appropriate 
wholly ;  they  receive,  and  give  nothing.  Here  self 
is  the  centre,  and  nothing  is  valued  except  as  it 
can  be  made  to  revolve  towards  the  vortex  of  this 
whirlpool. 

And  here  again  it  is  blessed  to  receive,  and  only 
blessed,  if  the  desires  be  kept  within  their  own 
sphere.  Not  alone  is  there  the  music  of  enjoyment 
from  the  correlation  and  adjustment  of  external 
things  with  a  sensitive  organization,  of  the  harp 
with  the  breeze,  but  in  the  attainment  of  its  object 
by  each  of  the  desires.  There  is  a  legitimate  en- 
joyment in  receiving  wealth,  and  admiration,  and 
fame,  and  power. 

But  here,  no  less  than  previously,  do  we  find  an 
obvious  subordination.  Not  more  obvious  is  it  that 
food  should  be  received  to  be  given  back  in  strength 
and  activity,  or  that  sensation  should  minister  to 
knowledge,  than  it  is  that  the  desires  were  intended 
to  receive  that  they  might  minister  to  the  affections. 
Let  a  man  pursue  wealth  and  power,  not  for  their 
own  sakes,  but  solely  that  he  may  do  good  to  his 
fellow  creatures,  and  there  is  no  danger  that  the 
desires,  thus  subordinated,  will  be  in  excess.  But 
the  moment  he  pursues  them,  I  will  not  say  with 


15 

some  reference  to  self,  for  God  intended  we  should 
provide  for  ourselves,  but  the  moment  he  pursues 
them  selfishly,  the  servant  becomes  the  master,  and 
slavery  begins. 

And  here,  too,  there  is  made  a  great  and  general 
mistake.  The  ends  proposed  by  the  desires,  instead 
of  being  held  subordinate,  become  ultimate,  and 
thus  the  desires  become  the  main  spring  of  activity 
and  the  basis  of  character.  We  all  know  how  each 
of  the  desires  creates  for  itself  a  world  of  activity, 
in  which  it  becomes  not  only  the  pervading,  but  too 
often  the  dominant  principle;  and  when  this  is  so, 
man  seeks  to  balance  himself  and  society  upon  a 
false  centre,  and  can  never  be  at  rest. 

In  the  world  of  business  the  desire  of  wealth 
rules,  and  in  the  eager  pursuit  of  this  the  vision  of 
its  votaries  becomes  narrowed,  so  that  they  see  and 
care  for  nothing  else.  The  fraudulent  man,  the 
rum-seller,  the  slave-trader,  the  panderer  to  appetite, 
the  inexorable  landlord,  have,  it  may  be,  no  ma- 
lignity, but  in  the  intenseness  of  this  desire,  they 
bow  so  eagerly  to  the  god  of  their  idolatry  that 
they  see  not  the  scattered  wrecks  of  property  and 
of  character  strewed  around  them,  and  hear  not 
the  wail  of  distress  that  comes  up  from  fathers  and 
mothers  agonized,  and  from  wives  and  children 
made  desolate.  They  hear  but  the  cry  of  this 
desire,  saying,  Give,  give,  and  all  the  better  forms 
of  intellectual  and  moral  life  are  contemned  and 
wither  away,  and  their  hearts  become  as  the  nether 
millstone. 

In  the  world  of  fashion  it  is  the  desire  of  admira- 
tion that  reigns.     The  value  of  dress  as  a  necessary 


16 

and  a  comfort,  becomes  subordinate  to  that  which  it 
receives  from  the  eyes  of  others,  and  from  the  posi- 
tion it  is  supposed  to  give.  Health  and  comfort  are 
disregarded.  Each  desires  to  become  a  receiving 
centre,  and  the  party,  the  ball,  the  assembly,  where 
they  have  been  admired,  and  especially  more  ad- 
mired than  others,  has  been  a  pleasant  party  or  ball 
or  assembly  to  them.  It  is  in  this  sphere  that  van- 
ity, self-complacent,  yet  meanly  dependent  and 
apprehensive,  finds  its  food.  Here  every  thing  is  on 
the  basis  of  receiving,  and  this  gives  it  its  heartless 
and  unsatisfying  character.  Even  all  copartnerships 
for  mutual  admiration,  whether  between  individuals 
or  in  regular  societies,  give,  only  that  they  may  re- 
ceive as  much  again. 

In  the  world  of  ambition  the  desire  of  power  is 
supreme.  No  ties  of  kindred,  no  obligations  of 
faith  and  sacred  honor,  no  pleadings  of  humanity, 
no  fear  of  a  righteous  retribution,  can  stay  the 
course  of  him  who  has  once  entered  the  lists  for 
this  glittering  prize.  Reckless  and  remorseless  as  a 
cannon-shot,  he  moves  towards  his  object,  shattering 
and  prostrating  every  thing  in  his  way.  "  The  land 
is  as  the  garden  of  Eden  before  him,  and  behind 
him  a  desolate  wilderness."  A  miser  of  power,  if 
he  is  less  despicable  than  the  miser  of  wealth,  it  is 
only  because  he  is  more  formidable  ;  for  though  he 
may  be  admired  by  the  unthinking,  he  is  yet  equally 
false  to  his  nature,  and  to  the  true  ends  of  life.  He 
may  be  a  battle-axe  in  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  to 
punish  the  nations,  but  a  true  man,  knowing  his 
Maker,  and  voluntarily  co-operating  with  him,  he 
cannot  be. 


17 

And  what  is  true  of  the  desires  thus  specified,  is 
true  of  them  all.  The  slightest  knowledge  of  them 
will  show  that  they  cannot  be  the  basis  of  either 
individual  or  social  happiness.  The  isolated  sum- 
mits which  they  would  reach  are  glittering  and 
attractive  at  a  distance,  but  there  is  there  no  spring 
of  water  for  the  thirsty  soul,  and  no  green  thing. 
Their  constitution  is  such  that  they  grow  by  what 
they  feed  on,  never  reaching,  like  the  bodily  appe- 
tites, a  limit  of  satiety.  "  He  that  coveteth  silver, 
shall  not  be  satisfied  with  silver."  He  that  con- 
quers one  world,  will  weep  that  there  is  not  another 
for  him  to  conquer.  Hence  a  character  which  has 
the  desires  for  its  basis,  must  be  hard,  and  dry,  and 
unamiable,  and  selfish  ;  and  the  individual  must  be 
restless  and  unhappy.  As,  too,  the  desires  are 
appropriating  and  necessarily  exclusive,  if  they  are 
the  basis  of  character  in  the  community  generally, 
it  must  become  the  theatre  of  a  general  conflict,  in 
which  every  malignant  passion  and  dissocial  element 
will  mingle,  and  society  will  be  dissolved  into  its 
original  elements. 

But  with  the  affections,  the  reverse  of  all  this  is 
true.  In  their  exercise,  we  find  ultimate  ends  that 
are  legitimate  ;  nor  is  there  in  them  any  tendency 
to  excess  and  disproportion  from  their  own  activity. 
They  arise  from  an  apprehension  of  some  worth  or 
worthiness  in  the  person  towards  whom  they  go 
forth ;  and  the  only  danger  is,  that  the  imagination 
will  clothe  their  object  in  false  colors.  Let  the 
person  be  seen  as  he  is,  and  the  measure  of  his 
worth,  or  of  his  worthiness,  is  the  natural  measure 
and  limit  of  the  affection ;  and  in  this  there  can  be 
3 


18 

nothing  exaggerated  or  excessive.  If  the  object  be 
greatly  worthy,  the  affection  ought  to  be  great ;  and 
the  greater  the  affection,  the  greater  the  blessed- 
ness. Among  the  highest  forms  of  blessedness 
conceivable  by  us,  is  that  of  a  perfect  affection  rest- 
ing with  full  complacency  upon  a  worthy  object. 

But  if  the  individual  will  thus  be  made  happy 
through  the  affections,  much  more  will  society. 
This  scarcely  needs  to  be  shown.  The  affections 
are  not  only  the  true  bond  of  society,  the  only  ele- 
ment and  sure  guarantee  of  peace,  but  as  burning 
coals  burn  more  brightly  when  brought  together, 
so  must  there  be  intenser  blessedness  where  the 
affections  are  drawn  out  by  intimate  and  complex 
social  relations. 

From  what  has  been  said  under  this  head,  it 
would  appear  that  to  give,  is  to  put  forth  power 
under  the  guidance  of  love.  In  doing  this,  there 
wTill  be  a  union  of  the  activities  with  the  affections. 
Hence  giving  is  the  culminating  point,  the  blending 
and  fusion  of  those  activities  and  affections  which 
we  have  shown  to  be  the  two  highest  sources  of 
human  blessedness.  If,  therefore,  we  will  but 
notice  it,  we  shall  find,  as  was  already  said,  that  it 
is  enstamped  upon  our  constitution — that  it  grows 
out  of  the  very  frame-work  of  our  being,  that  it  is 
more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

I  cannot  leave  the  discussion  under  this  head 
without  observing,  that  we  may  gather  from  it  the 
limit  and  law  of  all  our  receiving  faculties  in  their 
relation  to  those  that  give, — of  all  receptivity  in  its 
relation  to  activity.  It  is  that  that  only  should  be 
received,   which  will  enable   us  to   give  ;  that  the 


19 

limit  of  receptivity   should    be   the   point  where  it 
ceases  to  minister  to  activity. 

This  gives  us  the  law  of  temperance  in  all  things 
— its  universal  law.  Nature  is  not  arbitrary,  or 
capricious,  or  cynical.  We  are  at  liberty  to  receive 
into  the  body  anything,  and  in  any  quantity,  that 
will,  on  the  whole,  best  minister  to  the  strength  and 
activity  of  the  body.  The  mistake  of  intemperate 
men,  of  every  degree,  is  to  receive  for  the  sake  of 
passive  impression  those  things  which  depress  and 
injure  the  powers  of  activity.  The  student  is  at 
liberty  to  receive  into  his  mind  as  much  promiscuous 
reading,  and  to  hear  as  many  lectures,  as  will  give 
him  the  most  active  and  vigorous  mental  powers. 
Let  him  read  as  much  as  he  will,  provided  it  be 
assimilated,  and  there  be  nothing  of  the  crudities  or 
tumidity  of  mental  indigestion.  Let  the  desires 
stretch  forth  their  arms  as  they  may,  and  gather 
wealth  and  admiration  and  power,  provided  there 
be  nothing  gathered  to  be  hoarded  and  gloated 
upon  and  worshiped  ;  and  that  the  disposition  to 
communicate  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  ability,  and 
thus  the  great  law  of  stewardship  come  in,  and 
every  man,  as  he  has  received,  be  a  good  steward 
of  the  manifold  grace  of  God. 

It  is,  indeed,  in  this  relation  and  law  of  receiving 
and  giving,  that  we  find  the  true  ground  of  the 
subordination  of  different  enjoyments,  and  the  true 
theory  of  human  well-being.  This  last  consists, 
essentially,  in  the  right  activity  of  the  powers. 
The  right  activity  of  her  powers,  is  that  which 
makes  the  King's  daughter  all  glorious  within  ;  and 
if  this   be  so,  the  King  will  see  that  her  clothing 


20 

shall  be  of  wrought  gold.  For  the  completeness 
aud  fullness  of  well-being,  there  is  needed  not  only 
the  inward  harmony  and  joy,  but  the  investment 
and  regalia  of  a  world  without,  that  shall  testify 
through  every  sense  and  susceptibility  to  the  sym- 
pathy and  approbation  of  Him  by  whom  that  world 
was  organized  and  is  sustained.  We  reject  not,  nor 
undervalue  the  investment ;  but  we  find  in  this  law 
a  necessity,  that  he  who  would  attain  true  blessed- 
ness at  all,  should  make  the  basis  of  his  character 
the  activities  and  the  affections,  and  not,  as  the 
many  do,  the  sensibilities  and  the  desires.  In  the 
prevalent  type  of  character,  reason  and  conscience 
and  the  affections  are  subordinated  to  some  one  of 
the  desires,  pleasure  being  pursued  so  far  as  may 
be  compatible  with  that.  But  if  true  blessedness  is 
to  be  attained,  this  order  must  be  reversed  ;  and  the 
love  that  gives,  sustained  by  reason  and  conscience, 
must  take  the  place  of  the  desires  that  would  re- 
ceive ;  and  all  mere  pleasure,  all  desire  for  passive 
impression,  must  give  way  when  love,  so  sustained, 
shall  call  for  active  exertion. 

I  have  thus  illustrated,  as  I  was  able,  the  weighty 
and  comprehensive  saying  of  our  Saviour,  that  "  it 
is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive  ;  "  and  we 
find  it  confirmed  by  the  example  of  God  himself; 
by  the  mute  teachings  of  his  works  ;  and  by  the 
best  examination  we  can  make  of  the  constitution 
of  man  in  its  relation  to  the  modes  and  kinds  of 
possible  enjoyment.  The  essential  elements  of 
giving  are  power  and  love — activity  and  affection 
— and  the  consciousness  of  the  race  testifies  that  in 
the  high  and  appropriate  exercise  of  these  there  is  a 
blessedness  greater  than  any  other. 


21 

And  what  is  thus  taught  by  precept  and  con- 
firmed by  philosophy  and  by  consciousness,  it  is 
most  pleasing  to  find  perfectly  illustrated  by  exam- 
ple. With  the  interpretation  now  given,  it  could 
not  be  more  perfectly  illustrated  than  it  was  by  our 
Saviour  and  his  Apostles.  He  "loved  us  and  gave 
himself  for  us."  He  saw  that  the  world  was  in 
such  a  state,  that  by  giving  himself  he  could  save 
men  ;  and  with  the  full  knowledge  of  what  was 
before  him,  the  poverty,  the  reproaches,  the  buffet- 
ings,  the  mockings,  the  scourging,  the  crucifixion, 
he  gave  himself  freely.  This  he  did  in  the  con- 
scious exercise  of  power.  He  had  power  to  lay 
down  his  life,  and  he  had  power  to  take  it  again. 
He  gave,  not  as  he  gives  whom  giving  does  not 
impoverish,  but  he  gave  of  his  heart's  blood  till  that 
heart  ceased  to  beat.  He  planted  his  cross  in  the 
midst  of  the  mad  and  roaring  current  of  selfishness 
aggravated  to  malignity,  and  uttered  from  it  the 
mighty  cry  of  expiring  love.  And  the  waters  heard 
him,  and  from  that  moment  they  began  to  be 
refluent  about  his  cross.  From  that  moment,  a 
current  deeper  and  broader  aud  mightier,  began  to 
set  heavenward,  and  it  will  continue  to  be  deeper 
and  broader  and  mightier  till  its  glad  waters  shall 
encompass  the  earth,  and  toss  themselves  as  the 
ocean.  And  not  alone  did  earth  hear  that  cry.  It 
pierced  the  regions  of  immensity.  Heaven  heard 
it,  and  hell  heard  it,  and  the  remotest  star  shall 
hear  it,  testifying  to  the  love  of  God  in  his  unspeak- 
able gift,  and  to  the  supremacy  of  that  blessedness 
of  giving  which  could  be  reached  only  through 
death — the  death  of  the  cross.     This  joy  of  giving 


22 

it  was  that   was  set  before  him,  for  which  he  en- 
dured the  cross,  despising  the  shame. 

And  not  only  did  our  Saviour  exemplify  this  pre- 
cept, but  also  his  Apostles.  They  were  first  re- 
ceivers, and  then  givers.  They  rilled  their  urns  at 
the  fountain  of  light  and  power,  and  then  rayed 
these  forth  with  an  energy  that  made  them  the 
great  benefactors  of  the  race.  Standing  simply  as 
men,  without  wealth,  or  power,  or  learning,  or 
genius,  they  gave  their  being  in  its  entireness  to 
the  diffusion  among  men  of  God's  method  of  salva- 
tion, and  thus  took  their  stand  at  the  head  of  the 
mightiest  moral  movement  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
Nor  have  they  failed  to  have  successors  in  men  of  a 
like  spirit,  faithful,  self-denying,  ready  at  any  mo- 
ment to  seal  their  testimony  with  their  blood.  All 
down  the  ages  there  have  been  those  who  have 
given,  not  property  only,  but  themselves,  to  this 
cause  of  God  and  of  man. 

My  dear  Friends  of  the  Graduating  Class,  I  now 
turn  to  you.  Our  intercourse  of  the  past  year  has 
been  one  of  mutual  giving  and  receiving.  You 
have  not,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  merely  received,  but 
in  kindness,  in  courteousness,  in  faithfulness,  in  pro- 
gress, have  also  given  ;  and  in  this  there  has  been  a 
blessedness  which  I  am  sure  will  be  cherished  in 
mutual  remembrance.  And  now,  in  closing  my 
labors  for  you,  it  has  been  with  the  hope  of  com- 
mending to  your  more  careful  attention,  and  to  your 
full  adoption  the  reach  and  spirit  of  the  text,  that  I 
have  entered  upon  the  preceding  discussion.  I 
would    that   you    should    be   givers.      To  you    the 


23 

exhortation  comes  with  peculiar  appropriateness, 
"Freely  ye  have  received,  freely  give."  You  have 
received  from  God  high  endowments — not  merely 
the  susceptibilities  of  the  animal,  by  which  you  are 
capable  of  pleasure,  but  the  powers  of  the  angel, 
by  which  you  are  capable  of  an  eternal  blessed- 
ness— not  merely  the  desires  which  would  grasp  and 
appropriate  their  objects,  but  also  affections  by 
which  you  may  give  love  and  its  fruits,  voluntarily 
joining  hands  in  that  line  of  receiving  and  giving 
which  begins  at  the  throne  of  God  and  terminates 
only  with  animate  being.  You  have  received  a 
country,  vast,  prosperous,  progressive,  whose  future 
towers  up  into  an  undefined  magnificence.  Freely 
you  have  received  the  heritage  of  free  institutions 
bought  with  blood,  for  which  the  nations  of  the  old 
world  sigh  in  vain.  Under  these  fostering  institu- 
tions you  have  received  your  early  education,  and 
now,  through  the  wise  beneficence  of  others,  are 
completing  your  collegiate  course  in  the  free  air  of 
these  mountains.  You  have  received  the  hoarded 
wisdom  of  the  past,  a  key  of  knowledge  that  fits 
the  wards  of  nature's  locks  as  never  before,  that 
is  daily  unlocking,  and  will  unlock,  treasures  and 
resources  undreamed  of  in  former  days,  and  sur- 
passing fable.  Above  all,  you  have  received  "  free- 
dom to  worship  God,"  and  a  knowledge  of  the  way 
of  life  and  salvation  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
O  ye  plants  in  the  very  garden  of  the  Lord,  have 
ye  thus  received  his  rain  and  his  sunshine,  and  shall 
ye  not  yield  fruit  ?  Shall  there  be  among  you  one 
empty  vine,   bringing  forth  fruit  unto  himself;  one 


24 

frivolous,  pleasure-loving,  self-seeking,  world-wor- 
shiping idolater?  Are  you  not  satisfied  that  the 
law  of  giving  is  the  true  law  of  our  being  ?  And  do 
you  not  see  how  hopeless  it  must  be  to  go  against 
those  deep  tendencies  which  God  has  wrought  into 
our  frame — that  to  strike  against  the  adamant  of  his 
laws  is  to  be  "dashed  in  pieces  ?"  "  Freely  ye  have 
received,  freely  give."  Poor  you  may  be,  and  many 
of  you  are,  in  the  riches  of  this  world.  But  there 
is  a  giving  higher  than  that  decorous  giving  that 
meets  public  expectation,  but  not  the  requirements 
of  good  stewardship  ;  there  is  a  giving  higher  than 
that  of  wealth  to  any  extent.  The  time  has  come 
when  a  man  is  "  more  precious  than  fine  gold ;  even 
a  man,  than  the  golden  wedge  of  Ophir."  Give 
yourselves,  give  as  Christ  gave,  as  the  Apostles  gave. 
Pierce  to  the  kernel  those  Christian  paradoxes,  that 
we  save  by  losing,  and  live  by  dying,  and  receive 
by  giving.  Go  where  duty  calls,  where  there  is 
ignorance  to  be  enlightened,  suffering  to  be  relieved, 
vice  to  be  reclaimed,  character  to  be  improved. 
These  are  works  which  must  be  done  by  living  men. 
Wealth  alone  cannot  do  them  ;  the  labors  of  the 
dead  past  cannot  do  them.  It  is  not  the  touch 
of  the  bones  of  a  dead  Prophet  that  can  give  moral 
life.  In  every  age  it  is  a  sympathizing  love  that 
must  stretch  itself  upon  the  body  of  this  death,  and 
then  it  will  live.  So  give,  and  in  the  day  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  "you  shall  receive  a  crown  of  glory 
that  fadeth  not  away." 


PERFE  CT     LOVE. 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,   MS, 


AUGUST    15,     1855 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D 

President  of  Williams  College. 


SECOND      EDITION 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &   SON,   42  CONGRESS  STREET. 

1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


1  JOHN  it.  18. 

PERFECT    LOVE    CASTETH    OUT    FEAB. 


The  happiness  which  men  seek,  is  not  like  gold, 
which,  when  once  found,  can  be  kept ;  it  is  the 
result  of  some  activity ;  it  must  cease  when  that 
activity  ceases  ;  and  the  happiness  that  is  highest 
and  best,  can  spring  only  from  the  activity  of  those 
faculties  that  are  highest  and  best.  Here  is  the 
true  theory  of  human  happiness.  With  all  normal 
activity,  God  has  connected  enjoyment ;  and  the 
more  exalted  the  faculties,  and  the  more  intense 
the  activity,  the  higher  the  enjoyment.  If  then 
the  highest  happiness  can  come  only  from  those 
faculties,  or  forms  of  activity,  that  are  highest  and 
best,  it  becomes  a  paramount  question  what  those 
faculties  are. 

The  general  modes  of  activity  are  three.  We 
think,  we  feel,  we  will.  The  will,  however,  need 
not  be  considered  here,  because  it  is  a  means  of 
good  only  through  thought  and  emotion.  Aside 
from  mere  sensitive  good,  it  is  from  thought  and 
emotion  that  all  willing  springs,  and  it  is  to  thought 
and  emotion  that  it  ministers.     We  have,  then,  in 


seeking  for  the  immediate  sources  of  enjoyment 
not  sensitive,  to  compare  only  our  intellectual  and 
emotive  nature  ;  and  our  first  inquiry  is,  What  is 
the  relative  rank  of  the  intellect  and  the  emotions  1 

It  has  been  the  tendency  of  the  world,  and  espe- 
cially of  students,  to  exalt  the  intellect.  Under 
this,  all  agree  in  including  our  perceiving  and 
reasoning  powers  ;  and  I  would  also  include  our 
powers  of  intuition,  and  of  comprehension.  These, 
especially  those  of  intuitive  reason  and  compre- 
hension, are  high  powers.  By  them  we  are  made 
in  the  image  of  God,  we  become  partakers  of  his 
thoughts  and  purposes,  and  are  enabled  intelli- 
gently to  serve  him.  They  place  us  in  the  same 
rank  as  the  angels,  and  involve  the  capacity,  and 
thus  the  implied  promise,  of  an  indefinite  progres- 
sion. In  their  exercise,  there  is  a  consciousness  of 
inherent  and  native  dignity  that  sets  us  apart  from 
the  brutes  that  perish. 

Connected  with  the  activity  of  the  intellect  there 
is  naturally  an  appropriate  and  a  high  enjoyment, 
that  still  has  no  name  as  a  specific  emotion.  Its 
wheels  do  not  creak  and  complain,  as  they  revolve; 
they  sing.  Doubtless  there  might  have  been  a  cold 
and  unimpassioned  perception,  a  merely  dry  insight 
and  comprehension  ;  but  we  are  not  so  made.  "  It 
is  a  pleasant  thing  to  behold  the  sun ; "  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  perceive  and  trace  relations,  to  discover  or 
follow  an  argument ;  all  insight  and  comprehension 
are  pleasant.  Shall  we  then  say  that  the  pleasure 
thus  received  is  itself  an  emotion  1  In  its  widest 
sense,  we  may ;  but  not  thus  can  we  practically 


discuss  this  subject.  The  pleasure  connected  with 
the  mere  activity  of  the  faculties,  is  one  thing ;  the 
specific  emotions,  as  of  admiration,  beauty,  sub- 
limity, which  depend  on  the  activity  of  the  facul- 
ties under  certain  circumstances,  are  another ;  and 
there  is  plainly  no  fixed  ratio  between  perception 
or  comprehension  on  the  one  hand,  and  any  specific 
emotion  on  the  other.  There  are  those  with  great 
powers  of  insight  who  feel  little  admiration  ;  who 
can  stand  before  beautiful  and  sublime  objects  with 
but  slight  emotion.  An  astronomer  may  weigh  a 
planet,  or  measure  its  orbit,  or  cast  an  eclipse,  with 
as  little  admiration  as  a  shop-keeper  would  weigh 
a  pound  of  sugar,  or  measure  a  yard  of  cloth,  or 
cast  up  his  day-book ;  while  a  person  with  but 
little  insight,  knowing  nothing  but  facts  and  re- 
sults, may  contemplate  the  heavens  with  constant 
admiration  and  delight.  We  even  hear  of  the  cold 
philosopher  ;  as  if  there  were  some  incompatibility 
between  intellect  and  emotion  ;  and  we  constantly 
observe  the  greatest  variety  in  the  intensity  of  emo- 
tion, when  persons  are  in  the  presence  of  the  same 
beautiful  or  sublime  objects.  It  is  true  that  all 
elevated  and  worthy  emotion  must  depend  on  the 
intellect ;  yet  so  distinct  are  they,  that  we  may 
cultivate  the  intellect  exclusively,  and  repress  the 
emotions  ;  or  we  may  riot  in  emotion,  while  the 
intellect  is  comparatively  neglected. 

But  since  both  intellect  and  feeling  are  essential 
parts  of  our  being ;  since  thought  is  the  condition 
of  feeling,  and  feeling  stimulates  thought ;  it  may 
be  asked,  how  we  are  to  decide  their  relative  rank. 


This  we  can  do,  as  in  all  other  systems  of  related 
parts  that  have  reference  to  an  end.  In  these,  that 
which  precedes  as  a  condition  and  a  means,  is  sub- 
ordinate to  that  which  is  accomplished  as  an  end. 
Hence,  that  the  intellect  is  subordinate,  appears 
from  the  very  fact  that  it  is  the  condition  and  basis 
of  the  emotions,  and  that  they  are  later  in  the 
order  of  nature  and  of  time.  In  the  order  of  crea- 
tion, and  of  all  individual  development, 

"  Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last." 

Man,  in  whom  all  other  things  are  epitomized  and 
culminate,  came  last ;  and  that  in  him  which  is 
highest  and  noblest,  the  powers  of  reflection  and  of 
reason,  with  their  consequent  emotions,  also  come 
last  to  perfection.  In  the  vegetable,  the  fruit  and 
the  flower  come  last,  and  all  that  precedes  is  con- 
ditional for  these.  Emotion  is,  indeed,  as  the 
flower  to  the  stalk,  as  the  fruit  to  the  flower.  It  is 
the  verdure,  that  clothes  the  skeleton  trees  ;  it  is 
the  expression,  that  lives  and  glows  upon  features 
otherwise  rigid  and  motionless  ;  it  is  the  sweet 
smelling  savor  of  every  acceptable  offering,  that  is 
laid  upon  the  altar  of  God's  service  or  of  the  ser- 
vice of  man  ;  it  is  the  incense  that  should  go  up  as 
a  cloud  from  this  world  of  marvels  and  of  beauty. 
To  say  that  there  is  no  happiness  without  emotion 
in  some  form,  seems  hardly  adequate.  It  might  be 
nearer  the  truth  to  say,  that  it  is  happiness — for 
what  do  we  know  of  happiness,  except  as  an  emo- 
tion 1  And  yet  there  is  no  distinct  emotion  of 
happiness  that  is  known  by  that  name,  and  that 


can  be  distinguished  from  those  several  emotions 
by  which  it  is  enwrapped,  and  which  it  perfumes. 

The  emotive  nature  of  man,  thus  pre-eminent, 
has  a  wide  range  ;  and  we  next  inquire  what  it  is 
in  that  that  is  highest  and  best. 

In  perceiving  external  nature,  every  degree  and 
kind  of  perception  has  its  emotion,  from  the  faintest 
whisper  of  beauty,  sublimity,  admiration,  delight, 
to  their  highest  notes.  It  is,  however,  only  when 
we  pass  to  sentient  and  rational  beings,  that  the 
emotions  take  the  name  of  affections,  and  swell 
and  surge  in  the  passions.  Here  it  is  that  we  find 
love ;  but  in  assigning  its  rank,  we  must  make 
some  discriminations. 

From  the  poverty  of  language,  things  but  re- 
motely related  to  each  other  are  often  indicated  by 
the  same  word.  So  it  is  with  love.  In  its  broadest 
sense,  it  indicates  the  tendency  of  beings  capable  of 
enjoyment  towards  that  in  which  their  enjoyment  is 
found,  whatever  it  may  be.  It  includes  all  animal 
appetencies  and  instinctive  affections,  as  well  as 
that  attachment  which  has  its  primal  seat  in  the 
will,  and  involves  rational  and  moral  elements. 
The  ox  is  said  to  love  the  grass,  the  mother  bird 
its  young,  the  ambitious  man  loves  fame,  the  miser 
loves  money,  and  the  seraph  loves  God.  It  is  used 
to  express  the  purest  affections  of  spiritual  beings, 
and  to  sanctify  the  grossest  and  most  criminal  pas- 
sions. Like  '  fitness,'  it  is  used  to  express  a  general 
relation,  and  not  the  nature  of  the  things  related ; 
and  the  attraction  of  gravitation  is  not  more  unlike 
that  of  two  loving  hearts,  than  are  some  of  the  dif- 


ferent  forms  of  what  is  called  love,  from  each  other. 
But  the  love  spoken  of  in  the  text,  has  no  connec- 
tion with  appetite,  or  passion,  or  instinct,  or  any 
thing  sensitive  ;  but  springs  wholly  from  our  rational 
and  moral  nature,  and  is  drawn  forth  wholly  by  that 
which  is  rational  and  moral.  It  is  the  love  of  man 
for  the  spiritual  and  unseen  Creator.  It  is  love,  not 
as  an  instinctive  tendency,  or  a  mere  affection,  but 
as  a  principle.  As  in  conscience  there  is  a  rational 
element,  by  which  we  recognize  the  right,  and  an 
emotion,  by  which  we  approve  it ;  so  in  the  higher 
forms  of  love  there  is  a  rational  apprehension  of 
worthiness,  of  moral  beauty  and  excellence,  and  that 
peculiar  and  strong  and  undefinable  emotion  which 
is  the  soul  of  love.  These  may  be  distinguished 
from  each  other,  but  they  cannot  be  separated  and 
the  love  remain.  It  is  their  union  that  constitutes 
the  one  substantial  and  working  principle  that  we 
call  love,  as  it  is  the  union  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen 
that  constitutes  water ;  and  it  is  this  fusion  of  the 
intellect  and  the  affections,  that  is  called  '  love '  in 
the  text.  This  is  the  highest  form  of  human,  and 
we  may  say,  of  rational  activity.  The  light  of  the 
intellect  is  cold  and  cheerless  ;  it  is  the  warmth  of 
love  that  brings  out  the  verdure,  and  awakens  the 
voice  of  the  swelling  song.  This  is  the  high  and 
pure  principle  by  which  we  are  drawn  towards  all 
that  is  capable  of  happiness  in  its  proper  sense,  by 
which  we  are  not  only  attracted  towards  all  that  is 
amiable  and  generous  and  pure  and  holy  in  charac- 
ter, but  by  which  we  abide  steadfast  in  our  attach- 
ments.    It  is  the  highest  form  of  activity  drawn  out 


by  the  highest  objects.  Taken  with  the  happiness 
which  it  enfolds,  which  pervades  and  forms  a  part 
of  it,  it  is  the  highest  result,  the  brightness,  the 
crown  and  consummation  of  the  works  of  God — 
nay,  it  is  the  great  mode  of  activity  and  ground  of 
happiness  in  God  himself.  "  God  is  love,  and  he 
that  dwelleth  in  love,  dwelleth  in  God,  and  God  in 
him."     "  He  that  loveth  not,  knoweth  not  God." 

But  perhaps  we  may  best  gain  a  conception  of 
the  true  rank  and  functions  of  love,  from  the  agen- 
cies of  nature  which  are  required  as  its  symbols. 
No  one  of  these  is  adequate.  To  symbolize  it  fully, 
requires  the  three  great  elements  or  agents,  on 
which  all  enjoyment,  and  life,  and  order  depend. 

Of  these,  the  first  is  light,  which  represents  the 
intellectual  element  in  love.  How  grand  a  symbol 
is  this  all-encompassing,  all-revealing  element !  It 
gives  to  the  earth  and  heavens  all  their  beauty  and 
o-lorv.  Without  it,  the  distant  universe  would  be  to 
us  as  though  it  were  not.  This  is  the  only  symbol 
of  that  conscious  certainty  and  satisfying  knowledge, 
without  which  all  affection  is  degraded  to  an  instinct. 
But  as  there  may  be  and  is,  knowledge  without  love, 
as  light  without  warmth,  we  will  not  dwell  upon 
this. 

The  second  great  element  needed  to  symbolize 
love,  is  heat.  Not  chiefly  as  concentrated  in  fire, 
or  as  radiating  immediately  from  it,  is  heat  known 
as  a  beneficent  agent.  It  pervades  all  matter,  giving 
fluidity  to  water,  to  the  sap  of  vegetables,  to  the 
blood  of  animals,  quickening  every  seed  that  germi- 
nates, and  is  an  indispensable  condition  of  all  life. 


10 

Without  it  the  universe  would  be  solidified  in  eternal 
frost,  and  motionless  in  death.  But  suppose,  now, 
there  were  in  this  universe  no  warmth  of  affection, 
no  throb  of  kindness  in  any  heart ;  that  God  himself 
were,  as  some  would  make  him,  but  an  iceberg  of 
intellect,  chilling  the  universe,  and  that  men  were 
made  in  his  image  ;  and  there  would  be  a  frost  and 
a  death,  which  the  withdrawal  of  its  vital  heat  from 
the  frame  of  nature  could  but  faintly  shadow  forth. 
Not  one  pulsation  of  love  in  the  universe  !  How 
awful  the  desolation  !  But  where  love  is,  all  icy 
chains  are  dissolved,  all  dormant  life  is  quickened, 
every  rivulet  sings,  every  flower  opens  its  petals, 
and  to  breathe  is  to  be'happy.  An  intelligent  love 
is  the  blended  light  and  warmth  that  gives  to  all 
things  in  the  spiritual  world  their  life  and  beauty. 

But  not  less  essential  in  nature  than  light  and 
warmth,  nor  less  perfect  as  a  symbol,  is  another 
power  that  pervades  the  universe,  and  binds  all 
nature  together.  This  is  the  power  of  attraction. 
It  shows  itself  in  various  forms,  now  uniting  the 
particles  of  smaller  masses  in  the  embrace  of  a 
cohesion  which  no  force  can  sever,  and  now  binding 
together  families  of  worlds  as  they  pay  homage  to 
their  centre,  and  move  on  with  reciprocal  attraction 
and  seeming  affection  in  the  fields  of  space.  With- 
out this,  particle  would  be  loosed  from  particle,  and 
world  from  world.  The  earth,  the  planets,  the  sun, 
the  fixed  stars  would  be  sifted  into  space,  and  would 
disappear.  Not  a  spot  where  the  foot  might  tread 
would  remain  in  the  universe.  And  this  does  but 
represent  the  uniting  and  harmonizing  power  of 


11 

love,  in  an  intelligent  and  moral  system.  Within  a 
limited  range,  and  under  higher  control,  a  system 
of  balanced  selfishnesses  may  move  on  for  a  time ; 
but  as  a  great  uniting  principle,  that  will  hold  every 
individual  in  his  place  and  sphere,  and  work  out  any 
rational  good,  nothing  but  love  can  be  imagined. 
This  only  can  unite  the  family,  the  church,  the  state. 
Only  this  can  insure  harmony  among  nations,  only 
this  can  bind  the  creature  to  the  throne  of  the 
Creator.  With  a  God  thus  enthroned  and  reigning 
by  love,  and  every  rank  and  order  of  being  walking 
his  circuit  by  the  attraction  of  love,  not  merely 
around  the  throne  of  God,  but  around  all  those 
social  and  governmental  centres  which  God  has 
ordained,  we  have  moral  order,  the  only  order  that 
can  be  permanent,  or  that  has  intrinsic  worth. 

The  union  thus  of  three,  and  perhaps  even  of  two 
great  elements  in  nature,  as  the  symbol  of  a  prin- 
ciple or  mode  of  activity  in  the  spiritual  world,  is 
entirely  without  example.  Of  these  three  elements 
and  forces,  the  sun  is,  in  our  system,  the  centre. 
From  him  goes  forth  the  light,  from  him  the 
warmth,  from  him  chiefly,  though  it  be  reciprocal, 
the  attraction.  What  a  fountain  of  radiance  !  How 
does  that  radiance  stream  forth  as  in  genial  mar- 
riage with  the  vitalizing  heat !  What  a  centre,  we 
might  almost  say,  of  loving  attraction  !  And  when 
we  look  at  the  splendor  and  pervasiveness  of  these 
elemental  forces,  at  their  gentle,  yet  ceaseless  and 
resistless  agency,  and  at  their  results  in  the  sphere 
of  matter,  we  may  form  a  conception  of  the  place 
which  that  love  must  hold  in  a  moral  and  spiritual 


12 

system,  which  can  be  symbolized  only  by  all  of 
these ;  and  we  may  realize  more  fully  the  grandeur 
and  force  of  those  most  simple,  yet  most  sublime 
expressions  of  the  Bible,  "  God  is  a  Sun,"  and, 
"  God  is  Love." 

It  is  to  this  great  principle  of  love,  thus  shown 
to  be  the  highest  form  of  human,  and  indeed  of 
rational  activity,  that  I  would  now,  my  dear  Friends 
of  the  Graduating  Class,  call  your  especial  atten- 
tion. It  is  of  this,  that  I  desire  you  should  become 
radiating  centres ;  it  is  under  the  control  of  this, 
as  flowing  out  from  the  great  centre  of  all,  that  I 
desire  you  should  fully  come.  In  order  to  this, 
then,  let  us,  as  would  be  required  by  the  text, 
consider  first,  what  it  is  that  love  must  exclude. 

And  here  I  observe,  in  the  first  place,  that  love 
would  exclude  fear.  "  Perfect  love  casteth  out 
fear."  It  is  chiefly  in  fear,  and  not  without  reason, 
that  the  son  of  Sirach  makes  that  "  great  travail " 
to  consist,  which  he  says  "  is  created  for  every 
man,  and  that  heavy  yoke  which  is  upon  the  sons 
of  Adam,  from  the  day  that  they  go  out  of  their 
mother's  womb,  till  the  day  that  they  return  to 
the  mother  of  all  things."  "  Their  imagination  of 
things  to  come,"  says  he,  "  and  the  day  of  death, 
trouble  their  thoughts,  and  cause  fear  of  heart ; 
from  him  that  sitteth  on  a  throne  of  glory,  unto 
him  that  is  humbled  in  earth  and  ashes  ;  from  him 
that  weareth  purple  and  a  crown,  unto  him  that  is 
clothed  with  a  linen  frock."  How  then  may  fear 
be  removed  ?  Its  opposite  is  commonly  said  to  be 
hope,  and  it  is  by  this  that  most  would  attempt  to 


13 

exorcise  this  spectre.  But  the  philosophy  of  the 
Bible  is  profounder  than  this.  Hope  is  so  far  from 
being  the  opposite  of  fear,  that  it  implies  it.  So 
long  as  there  is  that  want  of  certainty  which  hope 
implies,  there  must  be  some  lingerings  of  fear. 
Nor  is  it  all  love  that  can  cast  out  fear.  On  the 
contrary,  much  of  our  love  tends  to  increase  and 
multiply  our  fears.  The  more  objects  of  affection 
we  have  in  a  world  like  this,  and  the  more  tenderly 
we  love  them,  the  more  open  are  we  to  suffering, 
and  the  more  ground  we  have  for  fear.  It  is  only 
the  love  of  God,  as  a  Father,  involving  perfect 
confidence  in  his  wisdom,  and  goodness,  and 
almightiness,  that  can  stay  the  risings  of  distrust 
and  apprehension.  This,  a  perfect  filial  love  not 
only  can,  but  must  so  do,  that  all  fear  shall  flee 
away,  as  the  mists  of  the  morning  before  the  sun. 
To  him  who  loves  thus,  God  will  be  a  "  refuge  and 
strength."  He  need  not,  and  he  will  not  fear, 
"  though  the  earth  be  removed,  and  though  the 
mountains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea." 

And  not  only  would  perfect  love  exclude  fear,  but 
also  hate.  This  it  does  towards  the  being  loved, 
by  the  very  force  of  the  terms.  But  he  who  has  a 
perfect  love  of  G.od,  can  have  no  more  hatred  of 
any  of  his  creatures,  than  God  himself  has.  He 
may — from  the  very  fact  of  his  loving  a  moral 
quality  he  must  —  have  a  strong  hatred  of  its  oppo- 
site ;  but  in  that  there  will  be  no  corroding  passion, 
no  malignity,  which  alone  is  properly  hate,  and 
in  which  alone,  and  in  remorse,  is  there  involved 
essential  misery.     As  love  is  pervaded  by  an  insep- 


14 


arable  happiness  which,  as  an  original  part  of  it, 
emanates  from  it,  as  the  fragrance  from  the  flower, 
or  the  light  from  the  sun  ;  so  is  malignity  per- 
vaded by  an  inseparable  and  an  inevitable  misery. 
This  clement  love  would  exclude  ;  and  thus,  under 
its  sway,  both  fear  and  hate,  those  two  great  foes 
of  human  good,  would  disappear. 

Once  more.  The  perfect  love  of  God  would 
exclude  that  undue  regard  for  self,  into  which  all 
malignity  properly  human  strikes  its  roots.  Both 
fear  and  hate  are  passions,  and  imply  intense  feel- 
ing ;  but  selfishness  is  a  principle,  and  may  be  the 
basis  and  substratum  of  life.  Practically,  this  is, 
indeed,  the  great  antagonist  force  to  love.  Con- 
sciously or  tmconsciously,  impliedly  or  avowedly, 
we  must  make  either  self  or  God  the  centre  ;  and 
in  the  conflict  of  self  with  the  claims  and  will  and 
interests  of  God,  consists  the  great  moral  battle  of 
this  world.  Originally  self  has  the  ground  ;  but 
the  entrance  of  divine  love  is  as  the  opening  of 
spring,  where  the  winter  has  reigned.  The  begin- 
ning of  the  spring  is  often  unperceived ;  its  pro- 
gress is  slow ;  there  are  long  and  fierce  struggles  of 
contending  forces  ;  sometimes  it  may  seem  to  go 
back.  But  the  sun  does  not  go  back.  His  advance 
towards  the  northern  tropic  is  steady;  the  snows 
disappear,  the  conflict  of  the  wind  ceases,  the  earth 
is  quickened,  and  in  due  time  the  long,  quiet,  fruit- 
ful days  of  summer  are  sure  to  come.  Such  is  the 
progress,  the  triumph,  the  summer  of  a  divine  love 
reigning  in  the  soul.     Now  it  will  bring  forth  fruit 


15 


unto  God,  and  all  undue  regard  to  self  will  be 
excluded. 

Having  thus  spoken  of  what  a  perfect  love  would 
exclude,  we  now  come  to  that  which  is  positive,  and 
will  first  consider  it  as  a  motive  to  action.  As  such, 
it  is  higher  and  purer  than  any  other.  To  work 
from  fear,  is  slavery  ;  to  work  under  the  compulsion 
of  animal  want,  is  a  hardship,  and  if  not  a  positive, 
yet  a  relative  curse  ;  to  work  for  personal  ends,  as 
for  pride,  or  ambition,  or  the  accumulation  of  prop- 
erty, either  for  its  own  sake,  or  our  own  sake,  is 
compatible  with  freedom,  but  has  in  it  nothing 
either  purifying  or  ennobling  ;  it  finds  and  leaves 
the  soul  dry  and  hard.  But  activity  from  love,  is 
the  perfection  of  freedom  and  of  joy.  Love  has 
the  power  to  make  the  greatest  labors  seem  light, 
and  the  greatest  obstacles  trifling.  When  Jacob 
served  seven  years  for  Rachel,  "  they  seemed  unto 
him  but  a  few  days,  for  the  love  he  had  to  her." 
How  free  and  cheerful  is  the  labor  of  a  mother  for 
her  child !  And  even  among  animals,  where  in- 
stinct simulates  and  foreshadows  moral  love,  we 
are  attracted  towards  it,  we  sympathize  with  it,  we 
think  it  beautiful,  we  regard  it  as  wanton  and  cruel 
to  disturb  its  natural  flow.  Its  very  semblance  is 
the  highest  form  of  animal  life ;  and  when  the  rapt 
seraph  adores  and  burns,  it  is  this  that  gives  to  the 
flame  its  brightness  and  its  power. 

But  in  a  world  and  a  universe  where  obedience  is 
so  required  by  the  cardinal  relations  in  which  we 
are  placed  to  parents,  to  civil  society,  and  to  God, 
the  place  of  love,  as  a  motive  to  obedience,  requires 


16 

special  attention.  In  a  moral  system  it  would  seem 
that  the  point  where  obedience  is  required,  must 
be  that  and  that  only,  where  there  can  be  pressure, 
friction,  derangement.  Obedience  requires  the  sac- 
rifice of  will,  of  pride,  often  of  apparent  self-interest. 
And  of  these  there  is  no  solvent  but  love.  Fear 
may  hold  them  in  abeyance  for  a  time  ;  policy  may 
disguise  and  temper  their  workings  ;  but  only  love 
can  come  up  and  undermine  them,  and  float  them 
away,  and  dissolve  them  in  its  own  depths.  Obedi- 
ence from  love,  is  that  alone  which  is  honorable  to 
him  who  is  obeyed  ;  and  there  is  no  other  principle, 
there  can  be  no  other,  that  will  bind  a  free  and 
rational  being  to  obey,  and  make  that  obedience  a 
source  of  happiness.  Hence  the  Bible,  always  true 
to  the  constitution  and  wants  of  our  nature,  antici- 
pates and  recognizes  no  other  obedience.  "  This  is 
the  love  of  God,  that  we  keep  his  commandments." 
"  If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  commandments,"  making 
the  love  first,  and  the  keeping  of  the  commandments 
a  natural  fruit  and  out-growth  of  that.  Thus  it  is 
that  love,  where  action  is  not  possible,  and  where  it 
is,  love  expressed  in  action — "  love,  is  the  fulfilling 
of  the  law." 

Nor,  in  addressing  students,  may  I  omit  to  men- 
tion the  relation  of  love  to  the  intellect  as  a  moving 
power.  All  high  emotion  is  indeed  preceded  by  the 
action  of  the  intellect ;  yet  that  emotion  reacts 
upon  the  intellect,  and  from  it  alone  must  come  the 
impulse  that  will  lead  to  steady  and  intense  applica- 
tion. Here,  as  in  the  body,  the  powers  act  in  a 
circle.     Digestion  forms  the  blood,  the  blood  gives 


17 

power  to  digestion.  It  is  a  prejudice,  as  disastrous 
as  it  is  unfounded,  that  there  can  be  a  schism 
between  the  heart  and  the  intellect,  to  the  advan- 
tage of  either.  The  world  is  not  ready  to  receive 
it,  but  it  lies  in  our  structure,  and  must  ultimately 
appear,  that  the  love  of  God  is  the  highest  ground 
of  enthusiasm,  not  only  in  the  study  of  his  word, 
but  of  his  works.  They  may  indeed  be  studied 
from  curiosity,  from  ambition,  from  a  desire  even  to 
disprove  the  being  or  the  moral  government  of  God ; 
and  thus  we  may  have  sharp,  disputatious,  dogmat- 
ical partisans  of  theories ;  but  the  genial,  patient, 
comprehensive,  all-reconciling  thinker,  will  be  most 
often  found  where  the  pale  and  dry  light  of  the 
intellect  is  tempered  by  the  warm  glow  of  love. 
How  can  he  who  has  no  love,  interpret  a  universe 
that  originated  in  love  \  The  works  of  God  are  all 
expressions  of  his  attributes,  and  thoughts,  and  feel- 
ings. Through  them  we  may  commune  with  him. 
So  far  as  there  is  thought  in  the  works  of  God,  it  is 
his  thought.  He  it  is  that,  through  uniformities  and 
resemblances  and  tendencies,  whispers  into  the  ear 
of  a  philosophy,  not  falsely  so  called,  its  sublime 
truths ;  and  as  we  begin  to  feel,  and  trace  more  and 
more  those  lines  of  relation  that  bind  all  things  into 
one  system,  the  touch  of  any  one  of  which  may 
vibrate  to  the  fixed  stars,  this  communion  becomes 
high  and  thrilling.  Science  is  no  longer  cold.  It 
lives,  and  breathes,  and  glows,  and  in  the  ear  of 
love  its  voice  is  always  a  hymn  to  the  Creator. 

And  not  only  is  love  a  motive  of  action,  it  is  also 
a  guide.     The  modes   in  which  conscious  beings 


18 

are  guided  to  their  good,  are  two.  They  either 
comprehend  the  good,  and  the  means  of  attaining 
it,  and  so  are  guided  by  reason  ;  or,  without  com- 
prehension, are  guided  to  the  good  by  a  blind 
and  unreasoning  instinct.  Of  these,  reason  is  the 
higher,  but  instinct  is  the  more  sure ;  and  proud  as 
we  are  of  our  reason,  it  not  seldom  happens  that 
that  very  reason  would  call  upon  us  to  give  up  the 
guidance  of  ourselves,  not  merely  to  faith  in  God, 
which  some  object  to,  but  even  to  the  instinct  of  a 
brute.  The  traveler  on  horse-back,  returning  home 
and  losing  his  way  in  the  darkness,  will  most  wisely 
give  his  horse  the  reins.  He  who  winds  his  way 
over  the  fearful  passes  of  the  Andes,  on  the  back  of 
a  mule,  where  a  single  mis-step  would  precipitate 
him  a  thousand  feet,  must  interpose  no  suggestions 
of  reason  between  the  sagacity  of  instinct  and  his 
own  safety.  Now  what  man  needs,  is  a  guiding 
principle,  that  shall  combine  the  security  of  an 
instinct,  with  the  ardor  of  passion,  and  the  freedom 
and  dignity  of  a  rational  wisdom.  And  such  a 
principle  he  has  in  the  love  of  God.  It  is  rational 
and  free,  because,  in  the  fullest  light  of  his  reason, 
man  chooses  God  as  the  object  of  his  confidence 
and  love ;  it  has  in  it  the  element  and  impulsion  of 
passion,  because  we  are  drawn  towards  him  by  his 
own  inherent  loveliness,  as  the  river  to  the  ocean ; 
and  it  is  sure,  because  God  must  deny  himself, 
before  he  could  suffer  an  action,  prompted  by  genu- 
ine love  to  him,  to  result  in  ultimate  disaster.  It  is 
through  this  irresistible  conviction  of  security,  that 
a  perfect  love  must  cast  out  all  fear  and  its  torment. 


19 

In  a  world  like  this,  where  we  know  so  little  of  the 
connections  and  dependencies  of  things,  a  case  can 
never  occur  in  which  the  highest  reason  would  not 
require  us  to  follow  the  promptings  of  love  to  God, 
rather  than  any  calculations  of  what  we  may  call 
prudence,  or  understanding,  or  reason.  It  may  lead 
to  the  martyr's  stake  ;  but  the  end  will  justify  it. 
It  is  from  the  predominance  of  love  in  the  character 
of  woman,  that  what  seem  to  be  her  instincts,  but 
which  are  something  higher,  are  often  so  much 
wiser  than  the  reason  of  man.  Woman  loves,  and 
trusts,  and  so  prays  ;  man  reasons,  or  thinks  he 
does,  and  scoffs.  The  perfection  of  character  and 
of  action  will  be  found,  as  it  was  in  Christ,  in  the 
highest  combination  of  reason  and  of  love. 

But  not  only  is  love  a  motive  and  guide  of  action, 
it  is  the  basis  and  essential  element  of  character. 
The  characteristics  of  a  man,  are  those  things  by 
which  he  is  known  ;  his  character,  is  his  moral  state, 
and  this  depends  on  the  paramount  love  that  is  in 
him.  If  the  paramount  love  be  of  sensual  pleas- 
ure, the  man  is  a  voluptuary  ;  if  of  fame,  ambitious ; 
if  of  money,  a  miser ;  and  if  of  God,  he  is  a  relig- 
ious man.  According  to  his  paramount  love,  will 
be  the  image  and  superscription  that  shall  be  set 
upon  every  spiritual  being ;  according  to  this  the 
quality  of  his  inner  life,  his  affinities,  his  companion- 
ships, and  his  ultimate  destiny.  The  perfect  love 
of  God,  is  the  Christian  religion  perfected  in  us  ; 
it  gives  us  affinity  for  him,  complacency  in  him, 
and  gives  us  naturally,  the  inheritance  not  only  of 


20 

all  things  which  he  has  made,  but  also  of  the  direct 
brightness  and  glories  of  his  character. 

And  this  leads  me  to  speak,  in  the  last  place,  of 
love  as  a  source  of  enjoyment. 

Happiness,  as  has  been  said,  does  not  consist 
chiefly,  in  the  possession  of  any  thing,  but  in  the 
activity  of  the  faculties  upon  their  appropriate 
objects.  The  intellect  is  not  for  itself ;  it  apprehends 
objects  adapted  to  produce  emotion,  and  the  emotion 
comes  to  us  loaded  with  happiness,  as  the  air  with 
fragrance.  We  seem  at  times,  indeed,  to  know  it 
only  as  happiness. 

But  of  the  emotions,  the  moral  love  of  a  Being 
that  is  infinite  and  perfect,  is  the  highest  possible. 
Has  man  the  capacity  to  apprehend  such  a  Being 
directly,  and  can  such  a  Being  thus  become,  by  his 
own  presence,  the  immediate  cause  of  emotion  ? 
That  he  can,  the  Bible  clearly  asserts  ;  and  this  is 
the  Christian  solution,  unique  and  grand  as  the 
telescopic  heavens,  of  the  great  problem  of  the 
highest  good  of  man.  No  philosophy  and  no  relig- 
ion had  conceived  of  any  thing  so  lofty  as  this.  It 
is  his  chief  distinction,  his  highest  dignity,  that  he 
is  capable  of  such  direct  communion. 

In  this  life  we  see  all  things  by  reflected  light, 
often  in  utter  unconsciousness  of  the  source  of  that 
light.  The  tendency  is  to  see  the  creature,  and  for- 
get the  Creator.  Men  behold  all  things  in  their 
unity  and  beauty,  the  '  cosmos,'  without  reference  to 
God.  The  world  is  in  their  heart.  But  infinite  love 
has  provided  for  his  creatures  something  better  than 
this.      We  shall  not  only,  as  here,  see  God  by 


21 

reflected  light,  we  shall  behold  his  face.  The  light 
that  is  now  below  the  horizon  will  arise  full-orbed, 
and  shine  with  direct  rays.  It  shall  flood  the  uni- 
verse, and  shall  never  go  down.  There  shall  be  no 
night  there.  Not  that  we  suppose  that  the  whole 
joy  of  heaven  will  consist  in  the  direct  contempla- 
tion of  God.  Christianity  excludes  no  source  of 
happiness  of  which  our  higher  nature  could  render 
us  capable.  It  includes  the  pleasures  of  knowl- 
edge, of  the  social  state,  and  the  swelling  anthem. 
But  all  must  see,  that  if  we  are  admitted,  not  only 
to  an  apprehension  of  the  universe,  but  also  to  an 
immediate  and  direct  apprehension  of  that  good- 
ness in  which  the  universe  originated  ;  if  we  may 
know  the  Infinite  as  a  friend  knows  his  friend,  the 
emotion  must  be  far  higher.  This  is  the  goal,  the 
limit  of  imagination  and  of  possibility.  Than  this 
nothing  higher,  nothing  more  ultimate  or  more 
satisfying  can  be  conceived. 

And  now,  my  Friends,  in  bringing  my  labors  for 
you  to  a  close,  what  better  can  I  do  than  to  com- 
mend to  you  the  cultivation  of  the  affections,  and 
especially  of  that  highest  of  all  affections,  the  love 
of  God.  I  do  not  give  you  advice,  but  seek  to 
bring  you  under  the  guidance  of  a  great  principle, 
that  will  bear  you  on  to  your  true  good,  as  the  river 
to  the  ocean.  Adopt  this,  and  I  would  simply  say 
to  each  of  you,  by  way  of  advice,  as  Samuel  said  to 
Saul :  '  Do  as  occasion  shall  serve  thee,  for  God  is 
with  thee.'  So  far  as  instructors  can  give  direct 
aid  in  education,  it  is  in  that  of  the  intellect.     In 


22 


this  you  have,  to  a  great  extent,  walked  with  each 
other,  and  with  us  ;  and  if  the  way  has  been  toil- 
some, it  has  also  been  pleasant,  and  the  toil  strength- 
ening. We  rejoice  to  have  walked  with  you ;  we 
hope  it  has  been  profitable  for  you,  and  that  it  may 
hereafter  be  pleasant  in  the  remembrance,  that  you 
have  walked  with  us.  But  when  the  intellectual 
part  is  finished,  and  the  point  of  transition  from 
thought  to  emotion  and  affection  is  reached,  there 
is  no  longer  unity.  We  have  then  the  expression 
of  the  individuality  of  each,  and  the  same  appear- 
ances and  facts  and  knowledge  may  be  transmuted 
into  motions  and  affections,  as  different  from  each 
other  as  an  anthem  is  from  a  sneer.  I  exhort  you 
to  sing  the  anthem,  and  if  there  must  be  those  who 
scoff'  and  sneer,  not  to  be  of  their  number.  There 
is  no  source  of  happiness  like  a  loving  heart.  He 
that  has  found  a  worthy  object  of  a  true  affection 
has  found  a  treasure,  and  he  that  has  found  one  of 
infinite  worth  has  found  an  infinite  good.  There- 
fore it  is  that  I  address  you  in  no  language  of  stoi- 
cism, of  caution,  of  repression,  such  as  age  and 
experience  often  adopt.  It  is  peculiar  to  the  love 
of  God,  that  there  is  in  it  no  danger  or  possibility 
of  excess.  It  is  with  loving,  as  with  glorifying  him. 
"  When  you  glorify  the  Lord,"  says  the  son  of 
Sirach,  "  exalt  him  as  much  as  you  can  ;  for  even 
yet  will  he  far  exceed :  and  when  you  exalt  him, 
put  forth  all  your  strength  and  be  not  weary,  for  you 
can  never  go  far  enough."  Here  there  is  no  need 
of  repression,  no  conflict  of  reason  with  the  affec- 
tions.   The  highest  office  of  reason  is  to  minister  to 


23 


a  divine  love,  and  if  this,  in  which  there  can  be  no 
excess,  be  enthroned,  there  can  be  no  danger  of 
excess  in  any  other  affection  or  passion.  It  is  not 
reason,  that  is  the  natural  governor  of  the  passions. 
The  office  of  reason  is  to  enthrone  an  affection 
rightfully  supreme.  When  this  is  done,  all  other 
affections  take  their  proper  places.  Then  light, 
and  warmth,  and  attraction,  coalesce ;  then,  not 
from  coercion  or  repression,  but  from  co-operation 
and  harmonious  action,  will  there  be  peace,  and  an 
infinite  joy.  I  exhort  you,  then,  to  no  cold  caution, 
but  to  the  intensest  energy,  both  of  thought  and  of 
feeling.  Let  reason  tread  her  outermost  circuits  ; 
she  shall  gather  nothing  that  will  not  kindle  and 
go  up  as  incense  at  the  touch  of  divine  love.  Have 
zeal,  have  enthusiasm.  There  is  a  sphere  for  you  ; 
there  is  a  true  treasure.  There  are  gold  and  pearls 
and  diamonds  and  rubies  that  perish  not.  There  is 
something  worth  living  for.  Mount  up  as  on  eagles' 
wings,  up — up — to  the  expanse  above  you  there  is 
no  limit. 

But  while  I  thus  exhort  you  to  this  love,  as  the 
permanent  good  of  man,  I  would  also  urge  it  as 
especially  needed  now  in  our  relations  here — in 
the  present  tendency  to  sectionalism  in  politics, 
and  to  sectarianism  in  religion.  If  discordant  ele- 
ments are  to  be  fused,  it  can  be  only  by  love. 
Entire  unity  of  view,  in  regard  to  modes  and  rites 
and  forms,  may  be  hopeless  ;  but  may  not  these  be 
put  and  kept  where  they  ought  to  be  %  May  not 
minor  points  be  so  merged  in  essential  truth,  that 
harmony  shall  not  be  disturbed  \     May  not  God  be 


24 


so  loved,  that  all  who  love  him  shall  be  loved  also — 
that  all  shall  be  loved  as  he  loves  them  1  And  who 
should  do  this  if  not  you  ?  This  is  demanded  of 
you  by  the  spirit  of  your  training  here ;  the  age 
demands  it  of  you ;  God  demands  it.  Who  can 
better  bring  the  diversity  that  springs  from  free 
thought  into  the  unity  of  an  intelligent  love? 
Diversity  is  before  unity,  as  chaos  is  before  order,  as 
solution  is  before  the  crystal.  But  has  not  diversity 
touched  its  limit?  Is  it  not  time  that  thoughtful 
and  good  men  should  find  a  common  centre  in  Him 
who  foretold  the  diversity,  but  prayed  for  the  unity. 
To  Him  we  must  look.  He  is  the  true  head,  the 
leader,  the  champion,  the  restorer  of  the  race.  Not 
human  systems  or  organizations,  but  Christ  only, 
can  be  a  living  centre  of  unity.  His  kingdom  is 
one  of  obedience  and  love — of  obedience  from  love. 
Of  these  he  set  the  great  example.  He  became 
obedient  unto  death ;  he  loved  us  unto  the  end. 
My  friends,  I  feel  deeply,  at  this  solemn  moment, 
that  the  complacency  of  God  in  us — that  our  co- 
operation with  him — that  the  results  of  our  living 
that  will  stand  the  fire,  will  be  as  our  love.  This 
will  purify  us.  This  will  strengthen  us  for  self- 
denying  labors.  This  will  make  us  missionaries 
wherever  we  may  be.  This  will  enable  us  to  unite 
substantially  with  all  good  men.  This  will  make 
it  light  when  we  go  down  into  the  dark  valley. 
And  when  your  work  is  done ;  when,  one  by  one, 
you  shall  go  down  into  that  valley,  may  that  light 
be  around  you ;  may  you  each  have  that  "  perfect 
love"  that  "casteth  out  fear." 


SELF-DENIAL 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,  MASS. 


AUGUST    3,    1856. 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D 

President  of  Williams  College. 


Published  by  request  of  the  Class, 


BOSTON: 

T.  R.  MARVIN  &  SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
18  5  6. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


SEEMON. 


HEBREWS  II.  10.— MATTHEW  xvi.  24. 

For  it  became  Him,  for  whom  are  all  things,  and  by  whom  are  all  things,  in  bringing 
many  sons  unto  glory,  to  make  the  Captain  of  their  salvation  perfect  through  sufferings. 

If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  cross,  and 
follow  me. 

What  is  it  that  makes  a  hero  %  Not  simply 
labors  performed  and  sufferings  endured.  The 
slave  labors  and  suffers.  The  labors  and  sufferings 
must  be  voluntarily  assumed.  Nor  is  this  enough. 
The  fanatic,  the  superstitious  devotee,  voluntarily 
assume  labors  and  sufferings ;  but  they  are  not 
heroes.  The  labors  and  sufferings  must  be  volun- 
tarily assumed,  from  benevolence,  a  pure  affection, 
or  a  sense  of  duty.  Labors  and  sufferings  thus 
assumed  and  perseveringly  sustained,  make  a  hero ; 
and  it  is  the  turning  point  in  the  destiny  of  men, 
when  they  freely  decide  whether  they  will,  or  will 
not,  assume  that  self-denial  and  suffering,  without 
which  nothing  great  or  good  can  be  accomplished. 
Not  more  surely  does  the  tree  come  to  its  flowering 
and  its  fruitage,  than  man  comes  to  freedom  of 
choice,  intelligent  action,  moral  responsibility,  and 
through  these,  to  that  moment  %i  decisive  and  gov- 
erning choice  which  shall  control  his  professional 
career  here,  to  that  which  shall  give  direction  to 


4 

the  current  of  his  moral  life  forever.  At  this  point, 
the  set  of  the  current  may  be  undecided.  It  may 
be  as  water  on  the  summit  of  the  Andes.  A  peb- 
ble, the  finger  of  a  child,  may  turn  it ;  but  that 
moment  decides  whether  it  shall  mingle  with  the 
stormy  Atlantic,  or  rest  and  glitter  on  the  bosom 
of  the  broad  Pacific. 

You,  my  beloved  Friends  of  the  Graduating 
Class,  stand,  to-day,  upon  the  summit  of  a  moral 
Andes.  It  overlooks,  on  either  hand,  the  plains 
you  are  to  traverse,  and  the  ocean  you  are  to  sail. 
Not  as  drops  of  water,  are  you  impelled  by  a  neces- 
sitating force  ;  but  with  the  comprehension  of  rea- 
son, with  the  responsibilities  of  freedom,  with  the 
advantages  of  education,  in  the  freshness  of  open- 
ing manhood,  you  are  to  decide  whether  you  will 
tend  towards  that  dark  and  troubled  sea  which  can 
not  rest,  whose  waters  cast  up  mire  and  dirt ;  or 
towards  that  bright  and  peaceful  ocean,  where 
sleep  the  isles  of  the  blest. 

This  connection  of  heroism  with  labor  and  suffer- 
ing preferred  for  a  high  end  to  ease  and  pleasure, 
and  this  turning  point  in  life,  heathen  mythology 
has  presented  in  the  choice  of  Hercules,  between 
Virtue  and  Pleasure.  I  wish  to  present  them  to 
you  under  the  clearer  light  and  higher  sanctions  of 
the  religion  of  Christ.  This  would  make  every 
man  a  hero.  The  text  asserts  that  the  work  of 
Christ  was  accomplished  through  suffering,  which 
we  know  he  chose  to  endure,  and  that  those  who 
would  follow  him,  must  deny  themselves,  must  take 
up  the  cross  !  Is  then  the  end  worthy  of  these 
sacrifices  1    Are  they  inherent  in  the  system  ?    How 


does  this  principle  of  self-denial  compare  with 
those  which  regulate  the  world  1  That  we  may 
answer  these  questions,  let  us  look 

I.  At  the  object  of  Christianity,  as  presented  in 
the  text — to  bring  "  many  sons  unto  glory." 

II.  At  the  process  by  which  this  is  to  be  accom- 
plished— a  process  of  salvation  implying  a  previous 
liability  and  tendency  to  ruin. 

III.  At  the  consequent  fact  that  self-denial  and 
suffering,  voluntarily  assumed,  must  enter  as  essen- 
tial elements  into  Christianity. 

And  IV.  Compare  the  principle  of  self-denial 
with  those  which  regulate  the  enterprise  and  pleas- 
ures of  the  world. 

First,  then,  the  object  of  Christianity  is  to  bring 
"  many  sons  unto  glory." 

This  is  its  more  immediate  and  direct  object, 
though,  as  has  been  said  of  the  atmosphere,  it 
"  consolidates  uses."  The  atmosphere  evaporates 
water,  distributes  it,  reflects  light,  bears  up  birds, 
wafts  ships,  supports  combustion,  conveys  sound,  is 
the  breath  of  our  life,  and  the  azure  of  our  heavens. 
So  Christianity,  while  it  magnifies  the  law,  and 
enthrones  mercy,  and  reconciles  us  to  God,  and 
makes  known  to  principalities  and  powers  in  the 
heavenly  places  his  manifold  wisdom,  is  also  the 
regulating  and  renovating  spirit  in  the  relations  of 
time.  It  alone  inspires  and  guides  progress  ;  for 
the  progress  of  man  is  movement  towards  God,  and 
movement  towards  God  will  ensure  a  gradual  un- 
folding of  all  that  exalts  and  adorns  man.  It  ex- 
cludes malignity,  subdues  selfishness,  regulates  the 


passions,  subordinates  the  appetites,  quickens  the  in- 
tellect, exalts  the  affections.  It  promotes  industry, 
honesty,  truth,  purity,  kindness.  It  humbles  the 
proud,  exalts  the  lowly,  upholds  law,  favors  liberty, 
is  essential  to  it,  and  would  unite  men  in  one  great 
brotherhood.  It  is  the  breath  of  life  to  our  social 
and  civil  well-being  here,  and  spreads  the  azure  of 
that  heaven  into  whose  unfathomed  depths  the  eye 
of  faith  loves  to  look.  All  this  it  does,  while  yet 
its  great  object  is  hi  the  future.  The  river*  passes 
on,  but  the  trees  upon  its  banks  are  green  and  bear 
fruit. 

The  glory  spoken  of  in  the  text,  and  which  is 
the  direct  object  of  Christianity,  consists  in  an  im- 
mortality hi  the  moral  likeness  of  God,  and  hi  the 
consequent  enjoyment  of  him  and  of  all  that  he 
has  to  give.  It  implies  conscious  rectitude,  and 
the  approbation  and  love  of  all  the  good  in  the 
universe  of  God.  This  is  true  glory  ;  and  the  love 
of  this,  Christianity  does  not  repress.  That  love  is 
Christianity,  and  it  calls  out  hi  its  pursuit  the 
whole  strength  of  the  human  powers.  It  opens  to 
the  flight  of  the  eagle  a  boundless  firmament. 
Here  is  one  difference  between  the  Christian  and 
the  worldly  hero.  "  Now  they  do  it,"  says  the 
Apostle,  "  for  a  corruptible  crown,  but  we  for  an 
incorruptible."  It  is  a  "  crown  of  glory  that  fadeth 
not  away."  It  transcends,  as  it  should  to  be  most 
effective,  as  it  must  to  be  adequate,  our  highest 
conceptions.  Even  inspiration  can  only  say,  as 
only  inspiration  would  say,  "  We  know  not  what 
we  shall  be."  "  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard, 
neither  have  entered  into   the  heart  of  man,  the 


things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love 
him."  This  is  the  highest  possible  object  for  man, 
and  hence  there  is  in  it  his  true  end  ;  for  the  true 
end  of  any  thing  which  God  has  made,  is  the  high- 
est of  which  it  is  capable. 

Christianity  does  not,  indeed,  claim  that  it  shall 
bring  all  unto  glory.  Here  is  a  mystery  that  hangs 
over  this  revelation,  and  a  ground  of  its  rejection 
by  many.  It  speaks  of  shi  with  a  sternness,  and 
of  its  unaverted  results  with  a  terror,  with  which 
those  who  have  but  slight  conceptions  of  the  holi- 
ness of  God  have  no  sympathy.  Still,  it  is  entirely 
a  system  of  salvation,  and  will  bring  unto  glory 
every  one  who  will  receive  it.  Men  may  reject  it, 
and  then  charge  upon  it  the  very  ruin  from  which 
it  came  to  deliver  them ;  but  it  is  wholly  beneficent. 
Through  it  must  come  all  the  ultimate  good  that 
shall  come  to  the  race  ;  and  if  there  must  be  those 
who  perish,  yet  the  sons  that  shall  be  brought  unto 
glory  shall  be  many.  They  shall  be  "  a  great  mul- 
titude which  no  man  can  number,  of  all  nations 
and  kindreds  and  people  and  tongues." 

Such  is  the  object  of  Christianity  ;  and  I  now 
observe,  in  the  second  place,  that  this  object  is  to 
be  reached  by  a  process  of  salvation,  implying  a 
previous  liability  and  tendency  to  ruin. 

This  proposition  all  do  not  accept ;  and,  among 
those  who  believe  in  the  being  and  agency  of  a 
personal  God,  the  question  respecting  its  truth 
involves  a  division  more  radical  than  any  other.  It 
involves  a  difference  in  the  foundation  on  which 
men  build,  in  all  the  aspects  of  the  present  system, 


in  the  supposed  tendencies  of  our  nature  and  of 
human  affairs,  and  in  all  plans  for  reform.  This  is 
the  parting  point  between  the  Evangelical  system 
of  religion  and  all  others  ;  for  Evangelism,  being 
the  proclamation  of  good  tidings,  can  properly 
involve  only  what  is  announced  from  without  as 
coming  into  the  system,  and  not  any  thing  already 
in  the  system  and  that  could  be  evolved  from  it. 
Is  the  ship  moving  towards  the  port,  or  drifting 
upon  the  rocks  \  Left  to  itself,  will  that  aggregate 
of  capacities  and  tendencies  which  we  call  human 
nature  reach  its  true  good  as  instinct  reaches  its 
end  X  Do  we  become  sons  of  God,  and  shall  we 
be  brought  unto  glory  by  our  first  birth,  or  must 
Ave  be  born  again  1 

I  know  well  how  strange  the  state  is  in  which 
this  doctrine  supposes  our  world  to  be,  and  into 
what  mysteries  of  the  past,  and  perplexities  of  the 
present,  and  fears  of  the  future,  it  must  run ;  and 
how  strong  in  us  all,  is  that  naturalism  by  which 
we  hold,  as  with  the  grasp  of  death,  to  what  is 
called  the  world.  I  know  with  what  intense  hatred 
and  scorn  this  doctrine  and  its  adjuncts  are  regard- 
ed, often  by  learning  and  philosophy,  and  especially 
by  genius,  that  well  knows  how  to  weave  its  bitter 
derision  of  them  into  the  tissue  of  its  fiction  and 
its  poetry.  I  know  how  strong  the  argument 
against  it  is,  both  from  feeling  and  from  a  seeming 
analogy. 

How  bright  and  beautiful  is  that  nature  by 
which  we  are  surrounded,  and  with  which  we 
feel  ourselves  in  sympathy  ?  We  stand  abroad 
when  the  day  is  gone,  and  the  stars  are  coming  out 


9 

in  the  clear  heavens,  and  the  crescent  moon  hangs 
in  the  west,  and  the  dark  foliage  sleeps  in  the  still 
air,  and  the  faint  light  lies  upon  mountain  and  val- 
ley and  river  like  a  white  veil  upon  the  face  of 
beauty,  and  Feeling  asks,  Can  it  be  this  upon  which 
revelation  has  written,  "  Reserved  unto  fire"  \ 

We  see  the  orbs  of  heaven  moving,  unerringly,  as 
if  of  themselves  ;  we  see  the  tree  pushed  upward 
by  an  internal  force,  and  the  animal  following  its  in- 
stincts, and  thus  reaching  their  ends.  They  have  no 
need  to  be  born  agam  ;  and  Analogy  asks,  Is  not  our 
nature  also  good  \  If  we  give  ourselves  up  to  the 
guidance  of  its  instincts  and  impulses  and  passions, 
shall  it  not  be  well  with  us  \  To  enjoy,  is  it  not 
to  obey  \  May  we  not  give  nature  her  bent,  and 
eat  and  drink  and  enjoy  ourselves  and  die,  and  feel 
that  death  is  but  a  sleep  before  a  pleasant  waking  ? 
O  what  joy  it  were  to  mingle  ourselves  with  the 
elements  and  forces  around  us,  in  their  on-going, 
without  responsibility,  or  care,  or  fear  !  Can  it  be 
that  we  must  deny  ourselves  ?  Have  we  that  in  us 
which  needs  to  be  repressed,  crucified,  and  must 
we  make  strenuous  effort  or  be  lost  1  O  how  gladly 
would  we  believe  that  the  broad  road  of  nature  does 
not  lead  to  destruction  —  that  her  current  would 
float  us  down  to  no  rapids,  and  to  no  cataract. 

But  not  so  speaks  the  revealed  word.  That  says 
that  the  broad  road  does  lead  to  destruction.  Not 
so  says  conscience.  When  the  still  night  of  reflec- 
tion comes,  she  does  hear  the  roar  of  the  cataract 
towards  which  sin  is  floating.  Not  so  say  history 
and  fact.  When  we  contrast  the  idols  of  heathen 
nations,  and  their  objects  of  worship,  with  the  true 


10 

God ;  and  their  frivolous  and  debasing  superstitions 
with  his  holy  and  spiritual  worship ;  and  their 
aims  and  hopes  with  the  Christian  heaven ;  and 
their  wretched  forms  of  intellectual  and  social  life, 
their  wars  and  licentiousness  and  revenge  and  de- 
ceit, with  the  intelligence  and  purity  and  love 
which  Christianity  would  produce  ;  when  we  see 
how  Christianity  itself  is  thwarted,  baffled,  per- 
verted, rejected ;  we  must  feel  that  here  is  moral 
perversion  and  moral  ruin.  Not  so  speaks  the 
voice  of  nature,  in  her  sterner  and  more  terrific 
aspects ;  not  so  in  the  uncertainty  and  hazard  upon 
which  she  puts  us  in  regard  to  our  interests  here  ; 
not  so  in  her  unswerving  laws  and  unpitying  in- 
flictions when  the  fatal  point  in  transgression  is 
reached.  Not  so  speaks  death,  in  its  present  aspect 
and  form,  with  its  sin-envemoned  sting.  Not  so 
speak  the  law  of  God,  and  those  dreadful  words, 
guilt,  and  remorse,  which  are  hi  human  speech  be- 
cause what  they  indicate  was  first  hi  human  con- 
sciousness. Not  so,  especially,  speak  Gethsemane 
and  Calvary.  There  can  be  no  healing  without 
sickness,  no  redemption  without  captivity,  no  par- 
don without  guilt,  no  finding  of  those  that  are  not 
lost,  no  salvation  without  exposure  to  ruin.  If 
nature  and  Christianity  did  so  speak,  the  first  altar 
built  by  the  gate  of  Paradise,  and  every  bleeding 
victim  under  the  Jewish  economy  were  a  lie,  and 
Christianity  would  deny  the  necessity  of  its  own 
existence.  There  would  not  be,  as  there  is  now,  a 
salvation,  and  a  Captain  of  our  salvation  made  per- 
fect through  sufferings. 


11 

With  such  ground  for  the  proposition  that  the 
process  of  Christianity  is  one  of  salvation,  let  us 
look, 

III.  At  the  consequent  fact  that  self-denial  and 
suffering,  voluntarily  assumed,  must  enter  as  essen- 
tial elements  into  Christianity. 

The  self-denial  and  sufferings  essential  to  Chris- 
tianity as  redemptive  and  restorative,  are  those  of 
Christ,  and  of  his  people.  Both  were  necessary, 
hut  on  different  grounds.  When  the  Apostle  says 
of  Christ  that  he  was  made  perfect  through  suffer- 
ings, he  must  mean,  not  that  he  was  made  perfect 
as  a  man  —  for  as  a  man  he  was  always  perfect  — ■ 
but  that  by  these  he  became  officially  perfect,  that 
is,  qualified  for  his  work.  Why  it  became  God 
thus  to  qualify  him,  we  are  not  here  told  ;  but  this 
expression  implies  that  in  his  qualification  the  suf- 
ferings were  an  indispensable  element.  That  they 
did  meet  an  exigency  in  the  divine  government,  and 
are  of  peculiar  efficacy,  appears  from  the  fact  that 
he  did  so  suffer;  from  the  whole  sacrificial  economy, 
patriarchal  and  Jewish ;  from  most  direct  assertions 
of  the  Bible  ;  from  the  peculiar  basis  of  Christian 
obligation  ;  and  from  the  songs  of  the  redeemed. 

But  all  the  sufferings  of  Christ  were  not  redemp- 
tive. He  met  with  opposition  and  reproach,  and 
felt  under  them  as  man  may  feel.  He  "  was  in  all 
points  tempted  like  as  we  are,"  and  there  are  self- 
denials  and  sufferings  which  his  people  must  share 
with  him.     The  soldier  must  follow  his  Captain. 

That  self-denial  enters  into  the  preceptive  part  of 
Christianity,  no  one  can  doubt.     It  is  remarkable 


12 

how  unflinchingly  she  proclaims  her  gate  of  en- 
trance to  be  strait,  and  her  path  to  be  trodden,  nar- 
row. She  calls  upon  men  to  count  the  cost  before 
they  begin  to  build.  Unqualifiedly  and  universally 
does  Christ  announce  the  condition  of  discipleship : 
'  If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  him- 
self, and  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  me.'  '  It  is 
enough  that  the  disciple  be  as  his  Master.'  '  If  they 
have  persecuted  me,  they  will  also  persecute  you.' 

But  is  not  this  a  harsh  and  an  unexpected  fea- 
ture in  a  religion  which  originated  in  love  1  Is 
there  not  hi  it  something  of  arbitrary  appointment  ? 
Might  not  Christ  have  endured  all  %  We  say,  No. 
We  say  that  self-denial  not  only  may,  but  must 
enter  into  Christian  life — that  so  far  as  Christianity 
is  redemptive  and  restorative,  every  act  originating 
under  it  is,  and  must  be,  an  act  of  self-denial. 
Christianity  is  not  the  absolute  religion.  That  is 
freedom,  health,  strength,  joy.  That  is  the  religion 
of  heaven,  where  every  power  sings  in  the  joy  of  a 
spontaneous  activity.  But  as  redemptive  and  re- 
storative, Christianity  exists  only  as  antagonistic 
to  sin ;  and  hence  there  must  be  conflict  and  conse- 
quent self-denial  till  sin  shall  be  eradicated. 

Self-denial  is  not,  as  some  seem  to  suppose,  a 
conflict  between  different  forms  of  selfishness.  It 
is  not  self-denial  when  the  miser  concentrates  his 
selfishness  into  one  absorbing  passion,  and  through 
that  denies  and  subjugates  his  appetites  ;  but  self- 
denial  is  the  triumph  in  man  of  that  which  is 
higher  over  that  which  is  lower.  It  is,  first,  the 
exclusion  of  selfishness,  and  then  the  renunciation 
of  any  form  of  enjoyment,  or  of  natural  good,  from 


13 

duty  or  from  love.  Christian  self-denial  is  the  de- 
nial of  self  for  Christ's  sake.  It  is  love  going  forth 
to  reclaim  the  sinful,  and  relieve  the  wretched. 

Now  Christianity  finds  man  in  the  intense  activ- 
ity of  a  spiritual  death,  and  her  work  is  to  make 
him  spiritually  alive  and  healthful ;  but  all  moral 
death  and  moral  disease  so  involve  a  love  of  sin 
and  its  pleasures,  a  wrong  bias  of  the  will,  that 
conflict  must  attend  every  step  of  the  process  hi 
eradicating  sin  and  restoring  the  image  of  God. 
The  disease  is  in  the  will — in  the  very  self.  Hence 
that  self  must  be  denied ;  and  it  is  the  beauty  of 
Christianity  that  the  great  transition-acts  by  which 
man  passes  over  to  it  are  not  arbitrary,  but  imply 
just  this  denial.  Repentance,  especially  in  that 
element  of  it  by  which  we  forsake  sm,  is  always 
the  denial  of  self;  and  this  must  continue  as  long 
as  sin  shall  remain.  The  very  act  of  faith  by 
which  we  receive  Christ  is  an  act  of  the  utter  re- 
nunciation of  self,  and  all  its  works,  as  a  ground 
of  salvation.  It  is  really  a  denial  of  self,  and  a 
grounding  of  its  arms  in  the  last  citadel  into  which 
it  can  be  driven,  and  is,  hi  its  principle,  inclusive 
of  every  subsequent  act  of  self-denial  by  which  sin 
is  forsaken  or  overcome. 

But  if  it  must  require  self-denial  to  resist  and 
overcome  sin  in  ourselves,  so  must  it  when  the  sin 
is  in  others.  To  a  sinner,  the  very  life  of  his  life 
seems  involved  in  the  selfish  bent  of  his  will,  and 
hence  the  war  between  sin  and  holiness  is  one  of 
extermination.  The  true  expression  of  the  oppo- 
sition of  sin  to  reproof,  of  its  blind  determination 
and  unfaltering  malignity,  is  to  be  found  in  the  cm- 


14 

cifixion  of  Christ.  It  slew  the  Son  of  God.  When 
man  saw  perfect  goodness,  he  crucified  it.  That 
act  showed  the  character  of  man ;  the  life  and  suf- 
ferings of  Christ  showed  the  kind  of  effort  needed 
to  reclaim  him.  His  mission  was  wholly  for  the 
good  of  others,  including  their  radical  reformation, 
and  was  therefore  one  stupendous  act  and  manifest- 
ation of  self-denial.  Of  the  same  general  character 
were  the  labors  of  the  Apostles  and  their  successors, 
and  such  must  be  all  true  missionary  labor.  In 
doing  this,  men  renounce  the  love  of  property,  of 
ease  and  enjoyment,  and  give,  and  labor,  and  suffer, 
for  the  good  of  others. 

This  essential  inherence  of  self-denial  in  the 
Christian  system  is  a  doctrine  that  has  faded,  per- 
haps is  fading,  from  the  consciousness  of  the 
church,  and  greatly  needs  to  be  freshened  and 
revived.  Having  its  root  in  the  moral  ruin  of 
man  and  his  possible  restoration,  it  must  enter  into 
the  elimination  of  sin  and  its  consequences  from 
any  system.  It  is  the  distinctive  characteristic  of 
Christian  activity  as  opposed  to  a  life  of  mere  na- 
ture, or  of  absolute  wickedness.  It  excludes,  on 
the  one  hand,  all  penances  and  self-righteousness  ; 
and,  on  the  other,  the  love  of  ease  and  self-indul- 
gence. Thus  viewed,  there  is  about  it  nothing 
arbitrary,  or  harsh,  or  austere.  It  is  no  mere  ne- 
gation of  good  for  the  sake  of  the  negation,  but 
rather  the  regimen  necessary  for  the  restoration  of 
health.  Not  with  the  eye  of  a  cynic  or  of  a  stoic 
is  any  enjoyment  scorned  or  rejected,  but  only  as 
duty  and  love  fix  their  eye  upon  something  higher 
and  better.     God  is  not  a  hard  master.     The  infi- 


15 

nite  love  of  the  gospel  is  dashed  with  no  spirit 
averse  to  enjoyment,  or  that  would  mar  the  un- 
speakable gift. 

But  if  self-denial  must  thus  enter  into  the  Chris- 
tian life,  let  us,  as  was  proposed  in  the  fourth 
place,  compare  it  with  the  principles  which  govern 
the  world,  especially  with  that  which  governs  it  in 
its  enterprise  and  business. 

The  principle  which  regulates  the  enterprise  and 
business  of  the  world,  is  that  of  demand  and  sup- 
ply ;  and  the  spirit  of  the  times  requires,  when  this 
would  come  in  conflict  with  self-denial,  that  they 
should  be  brought  fully  into  contrast,  that  you  may 
choose  intelligently  between  them. 

That  this  principle  of  demand  and  supply  has  a 
legitimate  sphere,  I  do  not  question.  Among  behigs 
capable  of  supplying  each  other's  wants  and  de- 
manding nothing  injurious,  it  would  be  wholly 
legitimate.  It  does  now,  and  must  always,  regu- 
late trade,  as  gravity  does  the  level  of  the  ocean  ; 
and  to  apply  it  skillfully,  is  the  great  means  of 
success  hi  honorable  traffic  and  in  all  forms  of 
business.  The  young  man  inquires  what  it  is  that 
the  world  demands  and  is  willing  to  pay  for — 
whether  to  supply  its  wants,  or  to  gratify  its  tastes 
— and  as  he  can  furnish  this,  and  the  world  is  will- 
ing to  pay  for  it  more  than  it  costs,  his  gams  will 
increase.  In  doing  this,  he  can  meet  with  no  oppo- 
sition from  the  very  fact  that  there  is  a  demand  ; 
and  though  he  may  thus  accumulate  a  fortune,  he 
is  often  regarded,  if  not  as  a  benefactor,  yet  with 
complacency  and  approbation.     Especially  is  this 


16 

so  if  he  have  met  a  want  unsupplied  before,  thus 
opening  new  sources  of  enjoyment,  and  new  chan- 
nels of  industry.  How  long  did  the  ice  of  our 
rivers  and  lakes  form  and  dissolve,  and  contribute 
nothing  to  industry  or  comfort  1  And  he  who  first 
had  the  enterprise  to  take  it  to  the  tropics,  deserved 
a  fortune.  Thus  we  trust  it  will  be,  more  and 
more  ;  that  as  the  great  ocean  currents  circulate 
the  waters  of  all  zones  and  equalize  temperature, 
heat  creating  the  demand  and  cold  supplying  it,  so, 
in  the  legitimate  application  of  this  principle,  the 
productions  of  all  zones  shall  more  and  more  con- 
tribute to  bring  unity  into  the  seeming  diversity 
of  nature,  to  supply  the  wants  and  augment  the 
comforts  of  man. 

But  wholly  legitimate  as  this  principle  would  be 
in  a  race  unperverted,  it  has  its  root  in  the  doctrine 
that  the  world  needs  no  moral  change — that  we 
are  to  take  it  as  it  is,  and  make  the  most  of  it. 
This  it  is  that  supplies,  and  insists  on  its  right  to 
supply  whatever  demand  may  exist,  regardless  of 
the  wickedness  or  the  woe  it  may  cause.  This 
it  is  that  will  sell  the  assassin  his  knife,  and  the 
drunkard  his  drink,  and  the  slave-dealer  his  slave. 
It  says,  there  is  a  demand ;  I  only  supply  it ;  if  I 
do  not,  another  will.  Thus  the  business  of  great 
companies  and  firms,  nay  the  very  institutions  of 
society  become  impregnated  and  cemented  by  ini- 
quity, till  interest  conspires  with  appetite  and  pas- 
sion to  blind  the  conscience  and  silence  rebuke. 
Confining  yourselves  prudently  within  the  range 
of  this  principle,  you  may  pass  on  easily,  and  gain 
wealth,  and  be  respected.     Men  will  praise  him 


17 

that  doeth  well  for  himself.  You  will  not  be  of 
those  who  turn  the  world  upside  down.  You  will 
not  trouble  the  world,  and  the  world  will  not  trou- 
ble you. 

But,  my  friends,  when  the  Captain  of  our  salva- 
tion came  into  this  world,  he  came  not  to  supply  a 
demand.  There  was  none.  He  came  to  meet  a 
deep,  though  unacknowledged  want.  He  came  to 
those  who  did  not  receive  him,  who  rejected  him 
and  his  teachings,  and  crucified  him.  Universally 
it  is  the  characteristic  of  wickedness  and  of  the 
ignorance  it  engenders,  that  they  desire  to  be  let 
alone.  Unhallowed  traffic  says,  let  me  alone,  and 
slavery  says,  let  me  alone,  and  drunkenness,  and 
licentiousness,  and  Sabbath-breaking  say,  let  us 
alone,  and  superstition  and  heathenism  say,  let  us 
alone.  If  we  wait  till  there  come  up  from  these  a 
call  for  reclaiming  influences,  we  shall  wait  forever. 
And  not  only  do  they  not  demand  these,  but  they 
will  resist  them,  and  persecute  those  who  bring 
them,  and  the  unconsciousness  of  need  and  the 
strength  of  resistance  will  be  in  proportion  to  the 
depth  of  the  ignorance  and  of  the  wickedness.  In 
the  face  of  a  state  of  things  like  this,  what  is  your 
sagacious,  prudent,  prosperous,  demand  and  supply- 
man  good  for  1  His  principle  is  that  the  supply 
should  be  as  the  demand,  and  when  the  demand  is 
great  his  labors  are  great,  and  so  is  his  harvest. 
But  just  the  opposite  of  this  is  the  principle  of 
self-denial.  Not  in  proportion  to  the  demand  but 
to  the  want  of  it ;  to  the  depth  of  the  insensibility, 
or  the  fierceness  of  the  opposition,  will  its  sensibil- 
ities be  quickened  and  its  energies  stirred.  It  will 
3 


18 

run  at  the  articulated  cry  for  help  ;  but  when  there 
is  no  cry,  it  will  abide  long,  even  as  the  missiona- 
ries in  the  South  Sea  islands  sixteen  years,  and 
chafe  the  temples  of  seeming  death.  Said  one  who 
proposed  to  be  a  missionary,  "  Send  me  to  the  dark- 
est and  hardest  and  most  degraded  place  in  your 
field."  There  spoke  the  spirit  of  the  Captain  of 
our  salvation ;  there  the  spirit  of  every  true  mis- 
sionary and  minister  and  pastor.  Where  is  the 
pastor  even,  who  so  preaches  the  truth  as  to  search 
the  conscience,  and  enforce  every  duty,  and  exalt 
God,  and  lead  to  a  life  of  humility  and  self-denial 
because  there  is  a  demand  for  such  preaching'? 
Where  is  there  one  who  is  not  constantly  tempted 
to  substitute  the  principle  of  demand  and  supply 
that  calls  for  smooth,  or  learned,  or  entertaining,  or 
exciting  preaching,  instead  of  that  which  would  fix 
his  eye  steadily  on  the  true  end  of  preaching  1  The 
object  of  this  principle  is,  not  to  take  the  world  as 
it  is  and  make  the  most  of  it,  but  to  transform  the 
world ;  and  it  can  never  rest  till  that  world  shall 
reflect  the  image  of  heaven.  The  leaven,  if  it  be 
leaven,  must  work  and  cause  fermentation  till  the 
whole  be  leavened. 

After  the  contrast  now  drawn,  it  will  hardly  be 
necessary  to  compare  this  principle  of  active  and 
voluntary  self-denial  with  those  which  govern  the 
seekers  of  pleasure  and  of  personal  distinction. 
For  the  principle  of  demand  and  supply,  there  is  a 
legitimate  sphere  ;  but  a  love  of  pleasure  or  of  per- 
sonal disthiction  as  a  paramount  end,  has  no  such 
sphere.  They  have  self  for  their  centre.  Their 
object  is  to  use  all  things,  not  to  improve  them. 


19 

Incidentally  and  casually  useful,  they  are  necessa- 
rily disturbing  forces  in  any  great  system  of  order. 
They  link  not  themselves  with  God,  or  with  any 
rightly  constituted  community,  and  so,  when  the 
springs  of  nature  fail,  they  wither.  There  is  about 
them  nothing  redolent  of  immortality.  No  man, 
whatever  his  wealth,  or  position,  has  a  right  thus 
to  live  to  himself.  No  man  has  a  right  to  excuse 
himself  from  active  self-denial  for  Christ's  sake. 
"  If  any  man  will  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  him- 
self, and  take  up  his  cross,  and  follow  me." 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  appears  that  if  there 
is  in  Christianity  an  element  of  self-denial  and  suf- 
fering, it  is  because  there  is  also  in  it  the  heroic, 
and  the  redemptive  element. 

The  heroic  element  is  a  firm  purpose  to  do  and 
to  endure  all  that  love  may  prompt  and  duty  re- 
quire ;  and  implies  obstacles  great  and  long  con- 
tinued. It  is  born  of  conflict,  is  manifested  through 
labors  and  sufferings,  and  hence,  but  for  sin  and  its 
consequent  evils,  could  have  had  no  place.  It  is 
not  rash,  or  quixotic,  or  vain  ;  it  is  not  supersti- 
tious or  ascetic.  Needless  conflict  or  suffering  it 
avoids  ;  but  when  its  hour  is  come,  it  dares  to  the 
utmost,  it  endures  unto  death.  Its  full  perfume  is 
known  only  when  it  is  crushed.  "What  wonder, 
then,  that  there  has  been  hero-worship  1  What 
has  the  pantheist  that  is  nobler  ?  Yea,  what  is  the 
very  highest  manifestation  of  being,  the  sublimest 
object  of  contemplation  ?  Not  oceans,  not  moun- 
tains, or  precipices,  or  cataracts,  or  storms.  Not 
the  blue  vault  above  us,  with  planets  and  satellites 
and  countless  suns  ;   not  the  awful  depths  of  infi- 


20 

nite  space.  It  is  not  power  in  its  creative  or  up- 
holding agency ;  it  is  not  skill  in  its  minutest  or 
in  its  broadest  exhibitions  ;  it  is  not  even  God  him- 
self ruling  by  love  over  an  intelligent,  free,  harmo- 
nious, happy  universe.  No  ;  it  is  self-sacrificing 
Love.  Clothe  this  and  the  issues  connected  with 
it,  as  does  Christianity,  with  the  attributes  of  in- 
finity and  eternity,  and  you  have  a  manifestation  of 
God  such  as  nothing  else  can  give.  It  is  Love  unto 
death  ;  Love  conquering  through  death  ;  Love  con- 
quering death  itself,  and  bringing  up  from  the 
struggle,  and  bearing  aloft  the  gift  of  eternal  life 
for  a  race  that  was  lost.  Here  is  the  power  of  a 
divine  Redeemer  —  in  this  the  voice  of  the  Cap  tarn 
of  our  salvation  to  a  redeemed  race,  calling  upon 
them  to  follow  him.  For  something  of  this — for 
self-sacrificing  love  according  to  his  measure,  there 
is  a  capacity  in  every  man,  and  to  this,  in  the  great 
conflict  between  moral  good  and  evil  of  which  this 
world  is  the  theatre,  every  man  is  called.  It  re- 
quires no  favoring  exigency,  no  special  endowment, 
no  applauding  throng,  no  results  even  which  may 
not  seem  to  sleep  with  the  body  of  the  humblest 
Christian  till  the  resurrection.  Its  theatre  is  time, 
its  issues  are  in  eternity.  This  is  the  true  battle  of 
life.  That  is,  not  with  the  elements,  to  gain  food 
and  shelter ;  it  is,  not  with  the  selfishness  around 
us,  to  gain  wealth  and  position ;  it  is  the  conflict 
of  every  man  with  that  within  and  around  him 
which  would  drag  him  and  others  down,  and  would 
debar  him  and  them  from  then-  rightful  inheritance 
and  position  as  children  of  God.  And  what  ele- 
ment of  heroism  can  there  be  which  does  not  here 
find  theatre  and  scope  ?     There  is  an  enemy  to  be 


21 

conquered,  great  struggles  are  required,  great  re- 
sults are  pending.  Here  are  needed  both  endur- 
ance and  achievement ;  and  if  hitherto,  in  Christian 
heroism,  endurance  has  seemed  to  preponderate 
over  achievement,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  they 
spring  from  the  same  root,  that  endurance  is  often 
the  nobler  and  more  difficult,  and  that  in  this  cause 
endurance  is  achievement.  "  He  that  endure th 
unto  the  end,  the  same  shall  be  saved."  Wonder- 
ful is  it  that  Christianity,  which  so  humbles  man, 
should  also  so  stimulate  and  exalt  him  —  that  it 
should  be  the  only  thing  that  brings  within  the 
reach  of  all,  the  struggles  and  rewards  of  a  true 
heroism. 

We  see  also,  from  the  preceding  discussion,  the 
peculiar  source  and  character  of  Christian  joy. 

Man  is  naturally  capable  of  joy  in  its  lighter 
forms.  There  is  a  joy  hi  wit,  and  pleasantry,  and 
mirth ;  and  with  these  Christianity  is  not  incom- 
patible, except  as  the  sight  of  the  great  mountains, 
or  the  piloting  of  a  boat  down  the  rapids,  or  earn- 
est engagement  in  any  business  is  incompatible 
with  them.  They  are  a  part  of  our  humanity ;  they 
have  then*  place,  and  let  them  have  it,  varying  with 
temperaments  and  with  times.  There  are  also  the 
more  serious  and  deeper  joys  of  success,  of  gratified 
desire  and  affection  in  any  form.  But  Christian 
joy  is  joy  under  the  Christian  system,  which  exists 
only  hi  opposition  to  sin  and  in  conflict  with  it. 
It  is  not,  therefore,  the  joy  of  the  absolute  religion, 
when  the  kingdom  shall  be  delivered  up  to  God, 
even  the  Father,  but  of  a  cause  yet  militant,  mov- 
ing on  in  discouragement  and  perplexity,  and  often 
meeting  with  apparent  defeat.     It  is  the  joy  of  re- 


22 

pentance,  of  humility,  of  hope,  of  conflict ;  for  in 
the  conflict  itself  there  is  often  a  stern  joy  not  to 
be  exchanged  for  those  that  are  lighter.  There  is 
in  it  the  joy  of  earnestness,  which  is  man's  natural 
element.  Negation,  skepticism,  distrust,  have  no 
joy.  There  is  joy  as  the  truth  grows  brighter,  as 
temptation  is  overcome,  as  appetite  and  passion  and 
evil  habits  succumb,  as  there  is  news  of  success 
and  of  the  power  of  God's  Spirit  over  the  vast  and 
varied  field.  An  Apostle  could  say,  "  I  have  no 
greater  joy  than  to  hear  that  my  children  walk  in 
truth."  The  Christian  is  in  sympathy  with  Christ ; 
and  as  the  captive  Jews  remembered  Jerusalem,  so 
he  remembers  his  cause,  and  weeps  and  rejoices 
with  the  alternations  of  its  success.  He  is  as  the 
patriot  soldier  watching  the  turns  of  parties  and 
the  fate  of  battles.  This  may  give  him  a  sober  and 
an  apprehensive  eye,  but  there  is  in  it  a  deep  and 
solemn  joy.  This  is  high  in  itself,  but  is  chiefly  to 
be  regarded  as  prophetic  of  that  which  shall  be, 
when  these  straits  and  shoals  and  currents  of  time 
shall  be  past,  and  we  shall  look  out  upon  the  calm 
ocean.  That  will  be  the  time  for  joy.  And  O, 
what  joy,  when,  in  view  of  the  full  range  of  this 
mighty  conflict,  of  the  parties  engaged,  and  of  the 
issues  involved,  we  shall  see  the  last  enemy  de- 
stroyed, and  many  sons  shall  be  brought  unto  glory. 
That  will  be  the  time  for  joy  ;  now  is  the  time  for 
labor,  for  self-denial,  if  need  be,  for  suffering. 

Once  more,  we  may  see  what  must  be  the  char- 
acteristic of  effective  labor  in  the  Christian  min- 
istry. 

Something  is  said  at  the  present  day,  perhaps 
not  too  much  as  it  is  intended,  of  making  the  min- 


23 

istry  an  inviting  field  of  labor  to  young  men,  and 
thus  in  these  days,  when  the  world  draws  so 
strongly,  of  inducing  more  to  enter  it.  But  noth- 
ing is  gained  by  fighting  the  world  with  its  own 
weapons.  The  ministry  has  its  own  joys  and  re- 
wards, higher  than  any  other ;  but  let  me  say  to 
you,  my  friends,  who  propose  to  enter  it,  that  in  its 
true  spirit  it  can  never  be  made  an  inviting  field  to 
flesh  and  blood ;  and  unless  you  expect  to  take 
upon  you  this  burden  of  self-denial,  and  to  look  for 
your  reward  chiefly  to  the  Captain  of  your  salva- 
tion when  the  conflict  shall  be  over,  let  me  entreat 
you  not  to  enter  it. 

But  not  only  hi  the  ministry  is  self-denial  re- 
quired ;  there  is  one  rule  and  standard  for  all. 
And  now,  my  dear  friends,  let  me  ask  each  of 
you,  standing  where  you  now  do,  Will  you  deny 
yourselves  in  this  world  for  Christ's  sake  \  I  call 
you  to  no  superstition,  to  no  austerity,  to  no  foster- 
ing of  pride  and  self-righteousness,  but  to  the 
acceptance  of  this  essential  element  of  the  Chris- 
tian system  as  Christ  left  it.  As  you  answer  this 
question,  you  will  settle  the  cast  and  general  direc- 
tion of  your  influence  for  life.  So  far  as  you  are 
Christian  men,  and  have  insight  into  your  own 
state  and  moral  wants,  you  must  adopt  this  as  an 
element  of  your  own  secret,  spiritual  life.  Only 
thus  can  you  be  transformed  into  the  image  of 
Christ.  Only  thus,  too,  can  you  do  any  thing  to 
hasten  the  triumphs  of  a  redemptive  and  restorative 
system  on  the  earth.  In  proportion  to  this,  must 
be  your  interest  and  ownership  in  the  future  king- 
dom of  Christ.  This  is  the  spirit  in  which  Paul 
prayed  and  labored,  the  spirit  in  which  Mills  and 


2± 

his  companions  prayed  under  the  '  hay-stack '  fifty 
years  ago,  and  devoted  themselves  personally  to  the 
work  of  missions ;  and  only  in  this  spirit  can  you 
be  associated  with  them. 

Your  course  of  study  here  is  now  ended  ;  and 
these  scenes,  which  I  shall  remember,  which  I  trust 
you  will  remember  with  gratitude  and  pleasure,  are 
now  closing.  The  voice  of  your  great  Captain  is 
calling  you  to  other  posts  in  the  ranks  of  his  army. 
Go  to  your  posts.  You  are  needed  there.  Long 
has  that  army  marched  in  feebleness  and  in  gloom. 
Through  the  long  night  of  the  past  I  hear  its 
muffled  tread,  and  the  low  notes  of  its  complaining 
music.  I  hear  the  groanings  of  its  prisoners,  and 
see  the  light  of  its  martyr  fires.  But  now  the 
morning  is  spread  upon  the  mountains.  Catching 
the  strains  of  prophecy,  the  music  strikes  up  in- 
spiring notes,  and  the  tramp  of  the  host  as  it 
emerges  from  the  gloom,  begins  to  shake  the  earth. 
Every  where  the  standard  of  the  Captain  of  our 
salvation  is  thrown  to  the  breeze,  and  the  ranks  are 
defiling  as  on  the  plain  of  the  final  battle.  Go  to 
your  posts ;  .  take  unto  you  the  whole  armor  of 
God ;  watch  the  signals  and  follow  the  footsteps 
of  your  Leader.  That  Leader  is  not  now  in  the 
form  of  the  man  of  sorrows  ;  not  now  does  the 
sweat  of  agony  rain  from  him.  Him  the  armies  of 
heaven  follow,  and  he  "  hath  on  his  vesture  and  on 
his  thigh  a  name  written,  King  of  kings,  and  Lord 
of  lords."  The  conflict  may  be  long,  but  its  issue 
is  not  doubtful.  You  may  fall  upon  the  field  before 
the  final  peal  of  victory,  but  be  ye  faithful  unto 
death,  and  ye  shall  receive  a  crown  of  life. 


HIGHER    AND    LOWER   GOOD. 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,   MASS. 


AUGUST    4,    1857, 


BY   MARK   HOPKINS,   D.  D.,  LL.  D. 

President  of  Williams  College. 


PUBLISHED    BY   REQUEST   OF   THE    CLASS. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &  SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857, 

By  T.  It.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


MATTHEW    VI.    33. 

BUT   SEEK  TE    FIRST   THE    KINGDOM    OF   GOD,  AND   HIS   RIGHTEOUSNESS ;    AND 
ALL  THESE   THINGS   SHALL   BE   ADDED   UNTO  YOU. 

The  blessings  which  man  can  enjoy  may  be 
divided  into  two  classes.  Of  these,  one  class  comes 
to  him  without  his  seeking  them.  If  he  is  to  live 
at  all,  he  must  see  the  light  and  feel  the  warmth  of 
the  sun ;  he  must  breathe  the  air,  and  smell  the 
fragrance  of  flowers,  and  hear  the  voices  of  men 
and  of  birds.  These  things  he  may,  indeed,  seek ; 
but  for  the  most  part  they  come  to  him  without 
any  seeking  or  agency  of  his. 

But  there  is  another  class  of  blessings  in  respect 
to  which  the  voice  of  nature  and  of  revelation  is, 
"  Seek,  and  ye  shall  find."  They  are  to  be  had  only 
by  seeking — often  only  by  the  most  assiduous  and 
energetic  application  of  those  powers  which  God 
has  given  for  their  attainment.  To  most  men  this 
is  true  of  wealth  and  its  advantages ;  and  it  is 
universally  true  of  all  high  knowledge  and  of  all 
those  personal  acquisitions  and  qualities  of  mind 
by  which  a  man  becomes  truly  great. 

But  these  blessings  that  must  thus  be  sought, 
may  also  be  divided  into  two  classes,  according  to 


the  direction  in  which  they  are  sought.  We  may 
either  seek  to  produce  outward  changes  and  to 
acquire  possessions,  or  we  may  seek  to  produce 
inward  changes — to  become  wiser  and  better.  We 
may  seek  to  derive  our  happiness  chiefly  from  what 
we  possess,  or  from  what  we  are.  The  greater  part 
of  men  evidently  direct  their  activity  chiefly  to  the 
production  of  outward  changes  and  the  acquisi- 
tion of  possessions.  This,  as  it  is  the  sin,  is  also 
the  great  error  of  the  race.  A  few  only  seek  first 
to  make  the  tree  good,  and  leave  the  result  with 
God. 

That  "  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteous- 
ness "  are  among  those  blessings  that  must  be  sought, 
is  very  plain.  In  this  respect  they  differ  even  from 
knowledge.  Some  knowledge  is  gathered  uncon- 
sciously and  involuntarily,  but  the  kingdom  of  God 
and  righteousness  can  come  only  through  the  activ- 
ity and  consent  of  the  affections  and  the  will.  It 
is  also  equally  plain,  that  the  direction  of  the 
activity  to  be  put  forth  in  attaining  these  must  be 
within.  "  The  kingdom  of  God,"  says  our  Saviour, 
"  is  within  you."  It  does  not  consist,  in  any  degree, 
in  the  possession  of  any  thing.  It  has  nothing  to 
do  with  wealth,  or  station,  or  learning,  or  place,  or 
time.  It  consists  wholly  in  our  state  ;  in  what  we 
really  are  in  our  relations  to  God  as  he  is  revealed 
in  his  law,  and  in  his  gospel. 

And  such  a  state — a  right  state  in  our  relations 
to  God — is  not  only  to  be  sought,  but  is  the  highest 
end  which  man  can  seek.  That  this  is  so  regarded 
by  God,  is  evident  from  the  very  fact  and  jdan  of 
redemption.     All  the  motives  and  efforts  and  ener- 


gies  of  his  moral  government  have  been,  and  arc, 
adapted  to  produce  in  man  a  change  of  state.  For 
this  Christ  came ;  for  this  the  Spirit  is  given  ;  for 
this  the  gospel  is  preached ;  for  this  angels  minis- 
ter ;  this  causes  joy  in  heaven  ;  in  this  God  is  more 
glorified  than  in  all  the  works  of  his  hands.  What 
God  desires  of  us,  is  a  right  state  of  the  affections 
and  the  will — that  we  should  take  the  place  of  his 
children,  and  he  his  children.  Such  a  state,  more- 
over, is  the  perfection  of  man  himself  in  that  which 
is  most  intimate  and  essential  to  him.  It  consti- 
tutes him  a  centre  of  light  and  of  power.  It  is  the 
brilliancy  of  the  diamond,  and  all  else  is  but  the 
setting. 

Having  thus  seen  what  the  kingdom  of  God 
is,  in  what  direction  we  are  to  seek  it,  and  that  it 
is  the  highest  end  at  which  we  can  aim,  we  now 
proceed  to  consider  the  assertion  of  the  text,  that 
if  we  seek  this,  "  all  these  things  "  shall  be  added 
unto  us.  What  is  included  in  "  these  things," 
we  learn  from  the  context.  "  Therefore  take  no 
thought,  saying,  what  shall  we  eat ;  or,  what  shall 
we  drink  ;  or,  wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed  ?  (for 
after  all  these  things  do  the  Gentiles  seek  ;)  for  your 
Heavenly  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of 
all  these  things.  But  seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of 
God,  and  his  righteousness  :  and  all  these  things 
shall  be  added  unto  you." 

We  have  here  a  promise,  in  this  specific  case, 
that  in  seeking  a  higher  good,  adequate  subordinate 
good  shall  be  incidentally  secured.  But  do  these 
words  of  our  Saviour  express  an  isolated  fact  ]  Is 
it  not  a  general  truth,  that  he  who  in  any  depart- 


ment  aims  at  and  attains  the  highest  good,  will  also, 
and  in  so  doing,  attain,  not  merely  an  adequate 
amount,  but  the  highest  amount  of  subordinate 
good  \  This  we  suppose  to  be  a  general  principle, 
and  we  propose  to  show  that  it  is  confirmed, 
first,  by  the  Scriptures  ;  secondly,  by  all  that  we 
observe  in  life ;  and  thirdly,  by  the  very  constitu- 
tion and  processes  of  nature  itself. 

And  first,  if  we  test  this  principle  by  the  Scrip- 
tures, we  shall  find  it  fully  confirmed  in  the  Old 
Testament.  Of  this  no  more  striking  instance  could 
be  given  than  that  of  Solomon.  When  he  was 
permitted  to  ask  what  he  would,  and  asked  an 
understanding  heart,  "  the  speech  pleased  the  Lord 
that  Solomon  had  asked  this  thing.  And  God  said 
unto  him,  Because  thou  hast  asked  this  thing,  and 
hast  not  asked  for  thyself  long  life ;  neither  hast 
asked  riches  for  thyself,  nor  hast  asked  the  life  of 
thine  enemies ;  but  hast  asked  for  thyself  under- 
standing to  discern  judgment ;  behold,  I  have  done 
according  to  thy  words :  lo,  I  have  given  thee  a 
wise  and  an  understanding  heart ;  so  that  there  was 
none  like  thee  before  thee,  neither  after  thee  shall 
any  arise  like  unto  thee.  And  I  have  also  given 
thee  that  which  thou  hast  not  asked,  both  riches, 
and  honor."  He  sought  that  which  was  higher, 
and  God  added  the  lower. 

But  of  this  principle  the  whole  history  of  the 
Israelites  is  an  exemplification.  During  the  period 
of  the  Judges,  whenever  they  sought  the  Lord  and 
served  him,  they  prospered.  The  earth  yielded  her 
increase,  and  their  enemies  were  subdued ;  but 
when,  ceasing  to  seek  the  higher  blessings,  they 


turned  to  idolatry,  the  lower  were  also  removed. 
So  in  the  history  of  the  Kings,  whenever  one  of 
them  "  did  that  which  was  right  in  the  sight  of  the 
Lord,"  the  Lord  was  with  him  and  made  his  way 
prosperous  ;  and  when  one  of  them  "  did  evil  in 
the  sight  of  the  Lord,"  disaster  was  sure  to  follow. 
This  is  the  one  great  lesson  taught  by  their  whole 
history,  and  intended  for  the  warning  of  individuals 
and  of  nations. 

In  the  New  Testament,  spiritual  blessings  are 
more  regarded ;  but  even  there,  this  principle  does 
not  fail  of  being  announced  in  its  general  form. 
We  are  told  that  "  godliness  is  profitable  unto  all 
things,  having  the  promise  of  the  life  that  now  is" 
as  well  as  "  of  that  which  is  to  come." 

Being  thus  confirmed  by  Scripture,  let  us  test 
this  principle  by  a  reference  to  the  common  objects 
of  desire  and  pursuit  in  life. 

Health  is  a  subordinate  good.  To  some  extent, 
certainly,  it  is  a  good  in  itself,  but  it  is  chiefly  so  as 
enabling  us  to  perform  fully  the  duties  and  labors 
of  life.  How  then  is  health  best  promoted  %  Not 
by  making  it  a  direct  object,  and  exercising  for  the 
sake  of  exercise,  but  by  seeking,  through  all  the 
exercise  of  body  and  mind  which  they  involve,  to 
accomplish  those  higher  ends  for  the  attainment  of 
which  health  was  given.  It  was  not  by  attention 
to  health,  but  by  labor,  that  our  fathers  secured 
the  constitutions  they  had.  It  is  when  people 
have  little  to  do,  or  do  little,  that  they  become 
nervous,  and  make  out  a  daily  bulletin  of  their 
feelings ;  and  if  they  are  not  sick  think  they  are, 
and  in  the   end  become  so.     It  is  recognized  by 


8 

every  physician  as  a  general  principle,  that  the  best 
condition  and  means  of  health  is  such  activity  in 
the  pursuit  of  other  ends  as  shall  cause  health  to 
be  unthought  of. 

Again,  sensitive  pleasure  is  a  subordinate  good, 
and  how  may  this  be  best  obtained]  The  body 
may  be  used  either  for  the  higher  purpose  of  pro- 
moting the  moral  ends  of  life,  or  as  a  machine 
with  the  direct  object  of  manufacturing  the  various 
forms  of  pleasurable  sensation  ;  and  what  we  say 
is,  that  it  will  yield  more  of  this  form  of  good  in 
its  higher,  than  in  its  lower  use.  Pleasure  results, 
not  from  the  body  alone,  nor  from  that  which  acts 
upon  it  alone,  but  from  the  relation  of  the  two. 
It  is  as  the  music  from  the  iEolian  harp.  Let  the 
harp  be  well  strung,  and  it  matters  little  what  wind 
may  blow.  So  of  the  body.  It  is  only  when  this 
is  well  strung  by  temperance,  and  has  that  general 
vigor  and  perfection  of  all  the  senses  by  which  it  is 
best  fitted  to  serve  the  mind,  that  it  is  most  per- 
fectly in  harmony  with  all  those  natural  objects 
which  are  adapted  to  give  it  pleasure.  The  sensi- 
tive organization  of  man  was  made  to  respond  to 
the  whole  of  nature.  It  is  all  his  counterpart,  and 
natural  inheritance.  But  when  he  begins  to  make 
upon  his  system  drafts  of  artificial  excitement  for 
the  express  purpose  of  pleasure,  his  relations  to 
those  sources  of  temperate  and  lasting  pleasure 
which  God  has  provided  are  changed.  Quiet  and 
simple  pleasures  become  insipid;  passive  impres- 
sions become  weaker ;  stronger  and  still  stronger 
excitement  is  required  ;  and  the  dividends  of  pleas- 
ure are  increased  only  by  drawing  on  the  capital 


stock.  The  natural  birthright  of  the  senses  is  then 
rejected — sold  for  a  mess  of  pottage.  Thencefor- 
ward the  man  knows  nothing  of  sun-risings  and 
sun-settings,  and  the  glories  of  night,  and  the  march 
of  the  seasons,  and  the  singing  of  birds.  Sensation 
is  more  and  more  divorced  from  that  union  with 
intellect  and  sentiment  by  which  it  may  be  trans- 
figured. Instead  of  being  mingled  in  the  feast  of 
life  as  a  condiment,  it  is  concentrated  with  an  un- 
wholesome drug  that  stimulates  and  bewilders  its 
victim  for  a  time,  and  then  palls  upon  the  sense. 
Even  Epicurus  could  say,  that  the  greatest  amount 
of  pleasure  could  be  reached  only  by  temperance. 

Thus  it  is  that  the  use  of  the  sensitive  organiza- 
tion for  a  purpose  lower  than  that  for  which  it  was 
intended,  is  not  only  wickedness  but  folly.  This 
point  should  be  fully  settled  by  every  young  man, 
for  it  is  just  here  that  many  make  shipwreck. 

We  next  inquire  how  this  principle  applies  to 
the  acquisition  of  wealth.  Would  a  lawyer,  or  a 
physician,  or  an  artist  gain  wealth,  how  will  he  do 
it  most  successfully  1  Certainly  by  attaining  some- 
thing higher, — great  excellence  in  his  profession  or 
skill  in  his  art, — and  then  wealth  will  flow  in  as  a 
matter  of  course.  But  if  any  should  say  that  the 
skill  is  subordinate  to  the  wealth,  let  me  speak  of 
a  character  for  prudence,  for  energy,  for  high  integ- 
rity and  honor,  for  righteousness  generally.  To 
such  a  character  wealth  is  certainly  subordinate, 
and  yet  the  cultivation  of  that  will  be  found  one 
of  the  surest  ways  of  acquiring  wealth.  This 
includes    all  that  is  meant   by  the   proverb,    that 

"  honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  and  something  more. 
2 


10 

Not  only  is  honesty  the  best  policy,  but  there  is  a 
tendency  in  all  righteousness,  or,  as  the  Scriptures 
term  it,  wisdom,  to  produce  wealth  and  the  outward 
means  of  enjoyment.  "  Length  of  days  is  in  her 
right  hand,  and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and  honor." 
Righteousness  must  exclude  all  habits  of  vice  and 
of  vain  and  injurious  expense ;  it  would  insure 
industry  and  a  sense  of  responsibility,  and  would 
secure  that  confidence  which  is  so  important  an 
element  of  success  with  business  men. 

In  the  present  disordered  state  of  things,  there 
may  be,  and  are  exceptions  to  this  in  individual 
cases ;  but,  on  a  large  scale,  where  alone  the  prin- 
ciple can  be  fairly  tested,  there  can  be  no  exception. 
Let  a  nation,  let  this  nation  become  righteous,  and 
it  is  as  certain  as  any  law  in  physics,  that  it  would 
be  the  most  effectual  means  of  increasing  its  wealth 
and  worldly  prosperity.  The  heavy  weights  of 
crime  and  pauperism,  that  now  drag  society  down, 
would  fall  off;  its  productive  power  would  be 
greatly  increased ;  property  would  be  more  valu- 
able as  more  secure ;  and  the  imagination  can 
hardly  conceive  the  extent  to  which  such  a  nation 
might  enjoy  all  that  can  make  this  life  happy. 

Again,  how  may  a  man  best  take  care  of  and 
extend  his  reputation  1  Not  by  aiming  at  it  di- 
rectly, by  anxiously  nursing  it,  eager  to  show  every 
unfavorable  rumor  to  be  false,  and  to  fan  every 
spark  of  good  opinion  into  a  flame  ;  but  by  going 
on  in  an  independent  course  of  duty,  leaving  un- 
founded reports  to  die  out  of  themselves,  and  the 
sparks  to  kindle  into  a  flame,  or  not,  as  they  may. 

And  if  this  be  true  of  mere  reputation,  it  is 
much  more  so  of  any  great  and  lasting  fame.     The 


11 

highest  form  of  greatness,  and,  of  course,  the  high- 
est legitimate  fame,  can  never  belong  to  a  man  who 
has  fame  for  his  chief  object.  He  is  no  true  artist, 
who  pursues  his  art  for  the  sake  of  fame.  The 
patriot,  whose  highest  object  is  fame,  is  no  patriot. 

Health,  pleasure,  wealth,  reputation,  fame,  these 
are  all  subordinate  objects,  and  to  them  all  the 
principle  now  laid  down  applies.  As  a  general 
rule,  they  are  best  attained  when  some  higher  end 
is  the  immediate  object  of  pursuit. 

Here,  then,  we  have  a  great  law  for  human  action. 
Is  it  also  a  law  which  God  has  prescribed  for  him- 
self, which  runs  through  nature,  and  is  incorporated 
into  all  the  processes  and  methods  of  his  natural 
and  moral  government  \  Does  he  always,  in  se- 
curing higher  ends,  incidentally  secure  the  lower  % 

In  securing  specific  ends,  and  giving  unity  to 
his  works,  God  has  two  methods.  One  of  these  we 
may  call  the  method  of  additions,  the  other  that  of 
development.  In  the  first,  he  passes  onward  and 
upward,  from  step  to  step ;  at  each  step  adding 
something  new,  but  also  bringing  forward,  either 
in  itself  or  its  results,  all  that  had  preceded. 

To  illustrate  this,  we  must  go  back  to  the  begin- 
ning of  time,  when  we  may  suppose  matter  to  have 
existed  chaotically  in  space,  having  properties  but 
not  laws.  And  it  may  be  well  for  our  present  pur- 
pose, to  represent  the  world  to  be  constructed  as  a 
pyramid  with  a  broad  base,  and  ascending  by  suc- 
cessive steps  or  platforms,  each  above  less  extensive 
than  that  below. 

What  then,  in  such  a  state,  must  have  been  the 
first  and  lowest  step  by  which  matter  could  have 
been  rendered  available  ?     Evidently  it  was  to  bring 


12 

it  together  into  masses ;  and  so  the  first  law  in  the 
order  of  nature,  if  not  of  time,  must  have  been  that 
of  gravitation.  This  lies  at  the  foundation.  It  is 
simple,  universal,  and  seems  to  pervade  all  space  ; 
but,  acting  alone,  it  would  simply  hold  the  particles 
in  proximity. 

The  object  next  higher  would  be,  to  form  from 
these  loose  particles  solid  bodies.  This  is  done  by 
what  is  called  the  attraction  of  cohesion ;  and 
bodies  united  by  this  will  form  the  second  platform. 
But  here  it  will  be  observed,  that  the  higher  in- 
cludes the  lower.  Not  all  particles  that  gravitate 
cohere,  but  all  that  cohere  gravitate. 

The  object  next  higher  would  be,  to  cause  par- 
ticles not  merely  to  cohere,  but  to  combine  and  to 
form  compounds.  Bodies  thus  united  would  form 
the  third  platform.  But  here,  again,  this  higher  is 
not  attained  without  the  two  lower.  All  bodies 
united  by  chemical  affinity  also  cohere  and  gra- 
vitate. 

The  next  higher  and  more  specific  object  would 
be,  the  production  of  regular  forms,  as  in  crystals  ; 
but  every  body  that  has  a  regular  form  also  gravi- 
tates and  coheres,  and  has  its  particles  united  by 
chemical  affinity. 

These  are  the  first  four  platforms  in  the  upward 
progress  of  the  creation,  and  they  include  only 
inorganic  matter. 

The  platform  next  higher  is  composed  of  regular 
forms  endowed  with  organic  life.  This  includes  all 
plants — the  whole  vegetable  creation.  But  in  every 
plant  we  find  not  only  organic  life,  and  regular 
form,  but  also  chemical  affinity,  and  cohesion,  and 
gravitation. 


13 

The  next  step  upward  is  to  sensitive  life — that 
which  is  capahle  of  enjoyment  and  of  suffering, 
with  the  instincts  necessary  for  its  preservation. 
This  greatly  narrows  our  platform  ;  but  here  again 
the  attainment  of  the  higher  both  includes  and  pre- 
supposes that  of  the  lower.  In  every  being  pos- 
sessed of  sensitive  life,  we  find  also  organic  life,  and 
regular  form,  and  chemical  affinity,  and  cohesion 
and  gravitation. 

There  is  but  one  step  more.  It  is  that  which 
carries  us  from  the  sensitive  life  with  its  instincts, 
up  to  the  higher  rational  and  moral  life  of  man. 
Here  we  find  every  end  attained  that  we  had  below, 
and  something  added.  Man  is  subject  to  every  law 
to  which  the  minutest  portion  of  matter  is  subject, 
and  has,  generically,  every  characteristic  of  every 
order  of  being  from  the  animalcule  up  to  himself. 
In  him  we  find  operating  gravitation,  and  cohesion, 
and  chemical  affinity ;  in  him  we  find  regular  form, 
and  sensitive  life,  and  instinct,  and,  added  to  these, 
the  higher  gifts  of  reason  and  of  conscience,  by 
which  he  is  made  in  the  image  of  God. 

Thus  do  we  pass  from  that  which  is  subject  to 
law,  to  that  which  also  comprehends  law.  Thus 
is  man  placed  on  the  summit  of  the  pyramid  of 
these  lower  works,  and  fitted  to  link  himself  with 
that  which  is  above.  Thus  is  he  the  natural  ruler, 
the  epitome  and  crown  of  this  lower  world.  Thus 
is  he  fitted,  as  partaking  of  the  nature  of  all,  to  be 
the  representative  and  priest  of  every  thing  below 
him,  and  to  gather  up  and  give  a  voice  to  that 
inarticulate  praise  which  goes  up  from  every  part 
of  it  to  the  Creator.  Thus  it  is  that  the  seven  steps 
of  the   creation  up  which  I  have  endeavored  to 


14 

lead  you,  may  be  compared  to  seven  notes  in  music 
sounded  successively,  and  then  in  harmony.  In 
the  first  step,  there  was  a  single  note  ;  in  the  second, 
the  same  note  was  taken  up  and  another  that  ac- 
corded with  it  was  added  ;  in  the  third,  another  still 
was  added  to  these,  till  man  came,  and  every  thing 
was  prepared  for  the  full  chorus  that  rang  through 
the  arches  of  heaven  when  the  morning  stars  sang 
together  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy. 

We  see  then  how  perfectly,  in  this  method  of 
additions,  God  adheres  to  the  principle  which 
we  are  now  considering.  He  never  does  secure, 
according  to  the  constitution  which  he  has  adopted 
it  would  seem  impossible  he  ever  should  secure, 
a  higher  end  or  good,  without  securing  at  the  same 
time,  incidentally,  every  subordinate  end  and  good. 

But,  besides  the  method  of  additions,  I  have 
spoken  of  that  of  development.  This  applies  only 
to  organized  beings,  each  of  which  is  a  system 
having  parts  and  functions,  some  of  which  are 
subordinate  and  others  ultimate.  To  such  a  system 
nothing  is  added  from  without,  except  as  there  is 
development  from  within.  It  supposes  something 
to  be  enveloped ;  and  that  to  which  all  the  other- 
parts  are  subservient,  will  be  that  which  is  origi- 
nally enclosed  in  all  the  rest,  and  which  is  the  last 
to  come  to  perfection.  So  it  is  with  the  brain  in 
man,  so  with  the  flower  and  the  fruit  in  the  plant. 

But  that  the  principle  in  question  must  hold 
under  this  method  is  evident  because,  here,  that 
which  is  highest  becomes  perfect  only  through  the 
ministration  of  the  parts  that  are  lower ;  and  the 
more  perfect  the  parts  are  that  minister,  the  more 
efficient  must  their  ministration  be.     This  is  the 


15 

general  rule.  Limitations  there  may  be,  but  not 
exceptions.  Would  God  secure  to  any  man  the 
highest,  the  best  balanced,  and  the  longest  con- 
tinued action  of  the  intellectual  and  moral  powers, 
he  does  it  only  by  giving  him  a  sound  physical 
constitution.  When  Moses,  the  servant  of  the 
Lord,  was  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  old,  "  his 
eye  was  not  dim,  nor  his  natural  force  abated."  So 
has  God  constituted  every  organic  being,  that  "  if 
one  member  suffer,  all  the  members  suffer  with  it, 
and  if  one  member  rejoice,  all  the  members  rejoice 
with  it;"  and  if  he  would  secure  the  perfection  of 
the  higher  parts  that  are  ministered  unto,  he  must 
do  it  by  securing  the  perfection  of  the  lower  parts 
that  minister. 

So  far,  then,  as  we  can  observe  the  works  and 
methods  of  God,  there  is  no  exception  to  the  prin- 
ciple now  stated.  Within  the  sphere  of  this  world, 
it  is  evidently  a  great,  guiding  idea,  in  all  that  he 
does.  It  was  so  in  its  construction,  giving  it  unity  ; 
it  is  so  in  its  government,  and  how  much  farther 
it  may  extend,  we  cannot  say.  It  may  be,  taking 
the  universe  together,  and  going  back  to  the  very 
birth  of  time — not  of  our  time,  but  of  all  time — that 
the  first  world,  or  sun,  or  system  that  came  into 
being,  gave  the  key-note  to  the  whole.  It  may  be 
that  that  note  has  been  repeated  with  additions 
from  that  time  onward,  till  at  length  it  may  require 
the  ken  of  the  highest  archangel  to  read  the  ex- 
tended scale,  and  the  voices,  as  of  many  waters, 
that  surround  the  throne,  to  utter  the  swelling 
anthem. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  is  not  the  great  doctrine  of 
voluntary  self-denial,  a  doctrine  taught  equally  by 


16 

nature  and  by  Christianity,  an  exception  to  this 
principle  %  Is  it  not  of  the  very  essence  of  self- 
denial,  that  instead  of  attaining  a  subordinate  good 
by  pursuing  one  that  is  higher,  Ave  attain  the  higher 
only  by  renouncing  the  subordinate  \ 

This  is  a  difficulty ;  but  it  will  be  observed  that 
it  arises  wholly  from  the  disorders  and  unnatural 
state  introduced  by  sin.  This  disorder  and  perver- 
sion are  sometimes  so  great,  as  in  martyrdom,  that 
it  is  necessary  to  sacrifice  every  subordinate  good, 
even  life  itself,  for  the  attainment  of  that  which  is 
higher.  Paul  found  it  necessary  to  suffer,  and  did 
suffer,  the  loss  of  all  things  for  Christ's  sake. 

Still,  a  fair  statement  of  what  is  required  by  the 
law  of  Christian  self-denial,  will  show  that  such 
cases  are  but  exceptions.  This  law  is  not  arbi- 
trary. It  is  no  law  of  fanaticism,  or  enthusiasm, 
or  self-torture.  It  simply  requires,  first,  that  we 
deny  ourselves  every  thing  that  is  sinful  in  itself; 
and,  second,  that  we  deny  ourselves  subordinate 
good  not  sinful  in  itself  only  so  far  as  it  would 
exclude  a  higher  good.  The  first  of  these  is  no 
exception  to  the  principle  of  the  text,  because 
pleasures,  sinful  in  themselves,  are  not  a  subor- 
dinate but  an  incompatible  good  —  incompatible 
with  any  true  good.  Under  the  second  requisi- 
tion there  may  be  exceptions,  but  they  commend 
themselves  to  our  reason  and  give  us  our  true  law 
at  a  point  where  there  has  been  serious  error.  The 
Christian  may  attain  any  subordinate  end,  as  wealth, 
may  enjoy  any  subordinate  pleasure,  as  that  of  the 
senses,  to  the  highest  point  of  non-interference  with 
that  which  is  higher  and  better.  You  are  at  lib- 
erty, my  friends,  to  pursue  wealth,  and  pleasure,  and 


17 

fame,  as  far  as  you  please,  provided  that  pursuit  be 
not  incompatible  with  the  attainment  of  a  higher 
good.  You  are  at  perfect  liberty  to  follow  amuse- 
ments to  any  extent,  if  there  be  nothing  higher 
or  better,  which,  as  men,  and  as  Christians,  you 
can  do. 

While,  then,  we  admit  that  exceptions  may  arise 
in  this  way,  still,  the  general  rule  will  hold  that 
subordinate  good  is  best  attained  by  the  pursuit  of 
that  which  is  higher. 

Having  thus  illustrated  and  confirmed  the  gen- 
eral doctrine  implied  in  the  text,  from  the  Scrip- 
tures, from  what  we  observe  in  life,  and  from  the 
constitution  of  nature,  I  turn,  my  Beloved  Friends 
of  the  Graduating  Class,  to  you.  Together,  and  I 
trust  not  without  some  success,  we  have  pursued 
the  investigations  of  science,  and  have  sought  the 
foundations  of  truth  and  of  duty.  But  now  the 
relation,  very  pleasant  certainly  to  me,  in  which  we 
have  stood  to  each  other,  is  to  cease.  To  you  there 
has  come  a  period  of  transition — one  of  those 
doublings  of  a  great  head-land,  when  it  becomes  the 
voyager  to  make  up  his  reckoning,  and  to  take  his 
bearings  anew.  In  doing  this,  do  not  fail  to  re- 
member how  treacherous  is  that  sea  upon  which 
you  are  to  sail.  One,  of  high  promise  and  hope, 
who  heard  me  the  last  year  as  you  hear  me  now, 
sleeps  in  death.  The  name  of  Lamberton  should 
admonish  you  that  the  voyage  may  be  but  brief. 
But  whether  it  be  brief  or  protracted,  whether  with 
gales  prosperous  or  adverse,  I  wish  to  put  into  your 
hands  an  infallible  chart.     Here  it  is :   "  Seek  ye 


18 

first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  his  righteousness." 
Since  the  world  began,  there  was  never  a  sentence 
penned  or  uttered  which  I  should  prefer  to  give 
you  as  your  guide.  In  it  is  the  essence  of  all  wis- 
dom for  man,  for  the  individual  and  for  society,  the 
wisdom  of  all  reform  and  of  all  growth. 

In  following  this  chart  you  will,  first,  see  the 
necessity  of  seeking  something.  "  Seek  ye,"  says 
our  Saviour,  "  seek."  Have  an  aim,  definite,  spe- 
cific. Without  this  there  can  be  no  comprehensive 
plans,  no  unity,  no  true  decision,  no  earnestness,  no 
moral  power.  The  whole  history  of  the  race,  the 
arrangements  of  nature,  the  constitution  of  man, 
all  proclaim  that  man  can  reach  his  true  good  only 
by  the  voluntary  activity  of  his  highest  powers  in 
seeking  a  chosen  end.  Some  things  you  may  have 
without  seeking  ;  some  you  may  seek,  and  not  find  ; 
but  there  are  things,  and  those  which  you  most 
need,  that  you  will  never  find  without  seeking. 

Seek  ye — ye,  who  are  placed  on  the  summit  of 
the  pyramid  of  these  lower  works  ;  ye,  who  may, 
if  you  will,  link  yourselves  with  that  which  is  still 
higher ;  ye,  who  have  but  one  life  in  which  to 
make  the  great  choice ;  ye,  who  have  been  redeemed 
by  the  precious  blood  of  the  Son  of  God,  seek  ye. 

But  what  will  ye  seek  1  This  is  the  great  ques- 
tion, here  and  now.  What  will  ye  seek?  What 
will  ye  seek  first  ?  Not  for  its  own  sake,  but  for 
its  bearing  upon  this  question,  have  I  asked  your 
attention  to  the  preceding  discussion.  I  wished 
that  my  appeal  to  you  to  seek  first  the  kingdom  of 
God,  might  come,  not  only  from  his  word,  but  that 
it  might  be  seconded  by  a  voice  from  all  his  works. 
I  wished  you  to  see  that  the  principle  involved  in 


19 

the  text  is  so  inwrought  into  all  those  works,  that 
it  cannot  fail  to  avenge  itself  upon  those  who  shall 
disregard  it.  I  wished  you  to  see  that  the  works  of 
God  are  but  as  a  great  whispering-gallery,  along 
which,  if  you  will  but  put  your  ear  to  it,  the  words  of 
Christ  are  constantly  echoing.  Seek,  then,  not  that 
which  is  below  you — you  were  not  made  for  that — 
but  that  "  which  is  above,  where  Christ  sitteth,  at 
the  right  hand  of  God."  Seek  first  the  kingdom  of 
God,  and  his  righteousness.  Seek  it  first  in  the 
order  of  time.  Let  no  business  preclude  it.  Seek 
it  first  in  the  strength  of  that  purpose  by  which 
you  devote  yourselves  to  its  pursuit.  The  kingdom 
of  God  !  His  glorious  and  eternal  kingdom  !  His 
righteousness  !  The  moral  likeness  of  God  !  Seek 
these,  and  all  other  things,  truly  good,  shall  be 
added  unto  you.  That  this  shall  be  so,  there  comes 
a  voice,  not  from  the  word  of  God  only,  but  from 
the  very  beginning  of  time,  and  it  is  uttered  with 
increased  force  at  every  step  in  the  process  of  the 
creation.  No,  my  Beloved  Friends,  it  is  not  I  that 
speak  to  you ;  it  is  the  whole  process  and  method 
and  structure  of  the  creation  of  God.  For  him  all 
his  works  testify.  When  the  Saviour  says,  "  Seek 
ye  first  the  kingom  of  God,  and  his  righteousness ; 
and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you,"  there 
is  not  one  of  them  that  does  not  utter  its  Amen. 

And  why  should  not  he  who  attains  the  king- 
dom of  God  and  his  righteousness,  have  all  other 
things  added  ?  It  must  be  so.  If  there  may  be 
exceptions  and  limitations  in  the  present  temporary 
scene  of  sin  and  disorder,  I  beseech  you  think  not 
so  of  God  as  to  suppose  there  can  be  any  ultimate 
exception.     "  Though  it  tarry-,  wait  for  it ;   it  will 


20 

surely  come  ;  it  will  not  tarry."  Think  not  of  God 
as  unwilling  that  his  creatures  should  enjoy  all 
from  his  works  that  they  can  enjoy,  without  sin. 
Vast  as  this  universe  is,  he  has  made  it,  the  whole 
of  it,  for  his  creatures.  He  owns,  not  the  earth 
only  and  the  planets,  but  the  sun,  and  the  milky- 
way,  and  the  far-off  nebulae.  And  what  use  has 
he  for  all  these  but  to  make  his  creatures  happy1? 
And  whom  should  he  make  happy  but  those  who, 
in  his  appointed  way,  seek  first  his  kingdom  and 
righteousness  %  So  doing,  you  shall  become  his 
children  ;  and  if  children,  then  heirs  ;  and  then  it 
is  the  voice  of  reason  as  well  as  of  Scripture,  that 
utters  that  promise — the  most  magnificent  that  lan- 
guage can  embody — ye  "  shall  inherit  all  things." 
Ye  shall  be  children  and  citizens  in  the  kingdom 
of  God,  and  shall  have  the  free  range  and  use  of 
all  his  works.  The  clouds  and  darkness  which 
now  seem  to  rest  over  his  moral  government,  you 
shall  see  roll  away ;  and  from  the  first  faint  whisper 
at  the  birth  of  time,  to  the  full  and  triumphant 
chorus  of  a  finished  creation  and  redemption,  you 
shall  catch  and  repeat  the  song  that  shall  come  up 
to  God  from  all  his  works  of  creation  and  provi- 
dence and  grace.  With  wonder  and  joy  you  shall 
witness  every  new  step  in  the  process  of  creative 
power,  and  of  the  manifestation  of  the  divine  char- 
acter. You  shall  be  present  at  that  next  and 
higher  manifestation  to  which  all  things  are  now 
tending  and  hastening,  and  of  which  he  speaks 
when  he  says,  "  Behold,  I  make  all  things  new." 
You  shall  sit  down  at  the  marriage  supper  of  the 
Lamb. 


EAGLES'    WINGS 


BACCALAUREATE     SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,   MS. 


AUGUST    1,    1858. 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D. 

President  of  Williams  College. 


PUBLISHED    BY    REQUEST    OF   THE    CLASS. 


BOSTON: 

TRESS  OF  T.  11.  MARVIN  &  SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 

18  5  8. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


ISAIAH  xl.  30,  31. 

EVEN  THE  YOUTHS  SHALL  FAINT  AND  BE  WEARY,  AND  THE  YOUNG  MEN 
SHALL  UTTERLY  FALL  :  BUT  THEY  THAT  "WAIT  UPON  THE  LORD  SHALL 
RENEW  THEIR  STRENGTH  ;  THEY  SHALL  MOUNT  UP  WITH  WINGS  AS 
EAGLES  ;  THEY  SHALL  RUN,  AND  NOT  BE  WEARY  ;  AND  THEY  SHALL 
WALK,   AND   NOT   FAINT. 

Have  we  then,  here,  an  exception  to  the  great 
law  of  decay  1  Is  there  any  thing  that  begins  to 
be,  and  grows,  that  does  not  reach  an  appointed 
limit,  and  then  go  back  \  Is  not  the  daily  move- 
ment of  the  sun  in  the  heavens  the  fit  emblem  of 
every  living  thing  that  he  looks  upon  in  his  cir- 
cuit? He  comes  out  of  his  chamber  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  he  climbs  the  eastern  sky  ;  he  reaches  his 
meridian  height,  and  then  declines  to  his  setting. 
So  it  is  with  every  blade  of  grass,  with  every  shrub, 
with  every  tree ;  so  with  every  insect  and  animal, 
from  the  animalcule  to  the  elephant ;  so  it  is  with 
the  physical  system  of  man,  and  so  with  his  mental 
faculties.  And  not  only  do  change  and  decay  affect 
every  organized  being,  but  also  the  empires  of  men 
and  their  monuments,  and  even  the  face  of  nature 
itself.  "  And  surely  the  mountain  falling  cometh 
to  nought,  and  the  rock  is  removed  out  of  his 
place ;  the  waters  wear  the  stones ;  thou  washest 
away  the  things  that  grow  out  of  the  dust  of  the 
earth;    and    thou   destroyest   the   hope   of  man." 


Throughout  this  universe  nothing  is  at  rest.  There 
is  permanence  only  from  change.  The  stability  of 
the  heavens  is  from  their  motion  ;  the  permanence 
of  our  bodies  is  by  constant  waste  and  supply. 
Whether  the  movements  in  the  heavens  will  be 
perpetual  we  know  not,  but  in  the  march  of  life 
every  step  is  towards  death.  The  movement  there 
tends  to  a  cessation,  and  that  cessation  is  death. 

It  is  this  certainty  of  decay  that  gives  a  tinge  of 
sadness  to  the  scenes  that  are  the  most  full  of  life. 
In  the  deepest  green  of  the  mountain  side,  the  pro- 
phetic eye  sees  the  "  sere  and  yellow  leaf ;  "  in  the 
gayest  assembly  of  the  young,  it  sees  the  gray  hair 
and  tottering  age. 

But  to  this  law  we  find  in  the  text,  and  in  the 
Bible  generally,  an  exception.  We  are  told  that 
"  the  path  of  the  just  is  as  the  shining  light,  that 
shineth  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day" — that 
"  the  righteous  shall  hold  on  his  way,  and  he  that 
hath  clean  hands  shall  be  stronger  and  stronger  " — 
that  "  they  shall  go  from  strength  to  strength  " — 
that  "  they  shall  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles  ; 
they  shall  run,  and  not  be  weary  ;  and  they  shall 
walk,  and  not  faint." 

So,  likewise,  the  kingdom  of  Christ  is  not  to  be 
subject  to  the  decays  of  other  kingdoms.  "  Of  the 
increase  of  his  government  and  peace  there  shall 
be  no  end."  "  And  the  kingdom  shall  not  be  left 
to  other  people,  but  it  shall  break  in  pieces  and 
consume  all  other  kingdoms,  and  it  shall  stand  for- 
ever." "  His  throne  shall  be  established  forever  as 
the  moon,  and  as  a  faithful  witness  in  heaven." 
"  His  dominion  is  an  everlasting  dominion,  which 


shall  not  pass  away ;  and  his  kingdom  that  which 
shall  not  be  destroyed." 

Here,  in  those  who  wait  on  God,  we  have  an 
alleged  exception  to  the  law  of  decay. 

What  then  is  it  to  wait  on  God  ?  It  is  not  to 
wait  for  him  in  an  indolent  passivity.  It  supposes 
that  "  all  our  springs  are  in  him,"  and  that  there  is 
an  open  channel  of  communication  between  him 
and  us ;  so  that  the  resources  of  his  omnipotence 
may  flow  in  to  us,  and  supplement  our  weaknesses 
and  infirmities.  Its  elements  are  expectation  and 
trust.  It  implies  ends  sought  in  sympathy  with 
God,  and  a  sense  of  dependence  on  him  actively 
expressed.  It  is  as  when  a  captive,  who  cannot 
redeem  himself,  waits  on  and  earnestly  implores 
the  help  of  one  who  can  redeem  him.  We  do  not 
suffice  to  ourselves.  On  every  side  we  are  sur- 
rounded by  agents  and  elements  that  we  cannot 
control.  Beset  where  we  stand,  opposed  when  we 
would  go  forward,  we  find  ourselves  powerless  in 
the  presence  of  obstacles  and  foes.  Then  we  wait 
upon  God ;  our  strength  is  renewed,  and  we  go  for- 
ward. Plainly,  those  "  who  wait  on  the  Lord  "  are 
the  same  as  "  the  just,"  "  the  righteous  ;"  and  the 
doctrine  is,  that  the  moral  and  spiritual  nature  of 
man  is  an  exception  to  every  thing  else  on  this  earth  ; 
and  that  moral  goodness  not  only  need  not  wane, 
but  that  it  may  have  an  uninterrupted  progress. 

To  establish  the  doctrine  just  stated  will  be  our 
first  object ;  and  to  do  this,  we  must  find  the  ground 
on  which  the  exception  is  made.  This  is  found  in 
the  very  nature  of  moral  goodness.  Moral  good- 
ness has  its  seat  in  the  affections  and  the  will,  and 


these  do  not  so  decay  with  the  strength  of  the  body 
and  the  power  of  the  intellect,  that  that  goodness 
is  impaired. 

It  is  a  brave  and  a  beautiful  tiling,  if  indeed  it 
be  not  rather  sublime,  when  a  man,  in  the  fullness 
of  health  and  of  strength,  is  required  to  abjure  his 
faith  in  Christ,  and  in  the  face  of  the  tyrant  he 
says  boldly,  and  even  defiantly,  No.  But  when  the 
inquisition  puts  its  victim  on  the  rack,  and  the 
power  of  endurance  is  tested  to  the  utmost,  and 
there  remains  only  strength  of  mind  to  apprehend 
the  question,  and  only  strength  of  body  to  whisper 
the  feeblest  No,  there  is  in  that  No,  a  power  that  is 
mighty  in  proportion  to  the  very  feebleness  of  its 
utterance.  Yea,  if  we  suppose  any  power  of  ap- 
prehension, and  of  expression  even  by  the  feeblest 
sign,  to  remain,  the  indication  of  firm  principle 
and  enduring  affection  and  moral  goodness  can 
become  strongest  and  most  affecting  only  at  the 
point  where  the  powers  of  the  body  and  of  the 
mind  flicker  on  the  very  verge  of  death,  and  at  the 
moment  when  they  go  out  in  its  darkness.  The  love 
of  the  Saviour  for  this  world  reached  the  crown- 
ing point  of  its  expression  only  at  the  moment 
when  he  "  bowed  his  head  and  gave  up  the  ghost." 

In  these  cases  the  exhaustion  and  feebleness  are 
indeed  from  torture,  but  the  principle  is  the  same 
in  natural  decay.  Had  the  affections  of  that  aged 
and  dying  Christian  grown  weaker  as  his  powers 
decayed,  who,  when  he  was  asked  if  he  knew  his 
friend  who  spoke  to  him,  said,  "  No," — if  he  knew 
his  children,  "  No," — if  he  knew  his  wife,  "  No," — 
if  he  knew  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  "  Yes,"  and  a 


smile  from  heaven  lighted  up  his  countenance  ; 
"  Yes,  he  is  all  .my  hope."  In  such  cases,  the  em- 
bers of  a  wasting  animal  life  gather  over  the  "  vital 
spark  of  heavenly  flame,"  and  obscure  it.  It  seems 
to  be  lost ;  but  when  it  can  be  thus  reached,  as 
sometimes  it  may,  it  is  seen  to  be  all  a-glow,  and 
the  light  which  it  shoots  up  is  but  the  brighter 
from  the  darkness  out  of  which  it  comes. 

It  is  conceded  that  the  strength  of  virtue  and  of 
trust  are  most  tried  in  adversity,  and  when  the  nat- 
ural desires  are  thwarted.  "  Though  he  slay  me, 
yet  will  I  trust  in  him,"  is  the  strongest  possible 
expression  of  confidence.  Let,  then,  the  decay  of 
the  powers  from  age  commence  and  go  on,  and  let 
there  be  perfect  acquiescence  in  this  till  their  ap- 
parent cessation  ;  and  how  does  the  power  of  good- 
ness, as  thus  seen,  differ  from  that  which  is  seen  in 
submission  to  a  voluntary  death,  and  in  holding  on, 
through  exhaustion  from  torture,  till  the  very  end  ? 

The  truth  seems  to  be,  that  an  accountable  being, 
remaining  such,  can  be  placed  in  no  circumstances 
in  which  moral  goodness,  the  principle  of  duty,  of 
submission,  of  faith,  may  not  be  brought  into  exer- 
cise ;  and  if  exercised,  then,  by  a  natural  law,  must 
they  be  strengthened  ;  and  the  more  difficult  and 
trying  the  circumstances  are,  the  more  strength 
may  be  gained.  It  is  through  and  in  the  very 
weakness  of  the  natural  powers,  that  the  moral 
powers  may  show  their  strength.  Only  at  the  mo- 
ment of  the  seeming  triumph  of  the  tyrant,  of 
disease,  of  decay,  can  humanity  pay  its  highest 
homage  to  goodness  and  to  God. 

In  the  struggles  of  men  against  evil  and  for  the 


8 


right,  there  is  doubtless  given  the  special  and  su- 
pernatural aid  of  God  ;  but,  in  addition  to  this,  it 
would  seem,  from  what  has  been  said,  that  the 
exception  made  by  the  Scriptures  to  the  great  natu- 
ral law  of  decay,  is  itself  sustained  by  a  natural  law. 

Having  thus  shown  that  there  may  be  constant 
progress  in  moral  goodness,  we  next  inquire 
whether  such  progress  is  not  a  condition  of  the 
highest  possible  strength  and  perfection  of  the 
intellectual  faculties.  If  we  regard  man  simply 
as  intellectual,  will  he  not,  both  as  an  individual, 
and  as  a  race,  mount  higher,  in  proportion  as  he 
cultivates  his  moral  powers,  and  waits  upon  God  ? 

This  is  a  question  that  deeply  concerns  every 
scholar  ;  and  that  it  should  be  answered  rightly,  is 
of  much  consequence,  both  because  it  lies  at  the 
basis  of  all  right  education,  and  of  all  true  self- 
culture  ;  and  because  there  is,  to  some  extent,  an 
impression  that  skepticism  and  wickedness  are  nat- 
urally associated  with  intellectual  power. 

In  what  has  been  said  it  has  been  taken  for 
granted,  that  the  powers  of  the  intellect  really 
decay.  This  may  be  doubted.  Of  mind  in  its 
essence  we  know  nothing,  and  of  the  laws  of  its 
connection  with  the  body,  very  little.  What  seems 
decay  may  be  from  the  body,  and  be  only  as  a  tem- 
porary drowsiness.  Certain  it  is  that  the  intellect- 
ual, are  indispensable  to  the  moral  powers  ;  that 
in  the  nature  and  sphere  of  each,  there  is  equally 
a  provision  for  an  indefinite  progress  ;  and  that  the 
aged  must  be  supposed  to  carry  into  another  state, 
not  the  imbecility  of  a  second   childhood,  but  the 


9 

results  of  their  mental,  as  well  as  of  their  moral 
action.  Still,  these  powers  do  seem  to  decay ; 
between  them  and  the  moral  powers,  as  has  been 
shown,  there  is  a  broad  distinction  ;  and  what  we  say, 
in  either  case,  is,  that  the  condition  of  their  highest 
attainment  is  the  cultivation  of  the  moral  powers. 

That  this  is  true  we  believe,  first,  because  of  the 
obstacles  to  intellectual  growth  and  progress  that 
would  be  removed  by  the  ascendency  of  the  moral 
powers. 

These  obstacles  are  prejudice  and  vice,  both 
of  which  are  inseparable  from  the  sway  of  pas- 
sion and  appetite,  and  both  of  which  would  disap- 
pear in  the  full  ascendency  of  the  moral  powers. 
If  prejudice  may  not  be  said  to  weaken  the  mental 
powers,  it  misdirects,  perverts,  and. limits  their  ac- 
tion. The  power  of  the  eye  is  one  thing  ;  a  clear 
atmosphere  is  another.  Prejudice  is,  to  the  mental 
eye,  an  indistinct,  a  colored,  a  distorting  medium. 
But  while  prejudice  misdirects,  vice  enfeebles,  or 
wholly  prevents  the  action  of  the  intellect.  From 
the  drunkard,  the  glutton,  the  licentious  man,  the 
gambler,  we  do  not  look  for  continuous  thought, 
or  for  any  rich  fruit  of  intellectual  culture.  They 
have  the  instincts  and  sagacity  of  the  animal, 
heightened  by  their  connection  with  rational  pow- 
ers ;  but  they  are  engrossed  by  their  vices,  and 
their  intellects  have  no  range  beyond  the  activity 
necessary  for  self-gratification.  Through  these 
vices  much  of  the  finest  intellect  of  the  race  has 
been  lost.  And  so  it  must  be.  If  the  swallow 
would  fly,  its  wing  must  not  be  draggled  in  the 
mud ;   if  the  eagle  would  continue  to  mount  up, 


10 

the  animal  that  is  sucking  his  blood   must  drop 
from  under  his  wine;. 

But  that  the  intellect  will  be  most  successfully 
cultivated  through  the  moral  powers,  appears,  sec- 
ondly, because  it  is  lower  than  those  powers,  and 
subordinate  to  them  ;  and  because,  in  securing  a 
higher  good,  we  best  secure  that  which  is  subordi- 

DO7 

nate  and  lower. 

That  the  intellect  is  lower  than  the  moral  pow- 
ers appears,  because  it  is  conditional  for  their  ac- 
tivity. And  here  we  find  a  criterion  which  may 
be  universally  applied  in  determining,  both  in  mat- 
ter and  in  mind,  what  agencies  and  powers  are 
higher,  and  what  are  lower.  Always  that  which  is 
conditional  for  another  thing,  and  so  serves  it,  is 
lower  than  that  thing.  The  foundation  of  a  house 
is  conditional  for  a  house,  and  is  lower,  in  more 
senses  than  one.  It  is  indispensable,  but  of  no 
value  without  something  beyond  itself.  So  of  all 
the  powers  and  agencies  of  inanimate  matter. 
They  are  conditional  for  vegetable  life,  and  are 
lower.  So,  again,  vegetable  is  conditional  for 
animal  life,  and  it  is  lower  ;  so  with  the  heart  and 
the  brain  ;  so  with  the  body  and  the  mind ;  and 
so  with  the  intellect  and  the  moral  powers.  The 
intellect  is  conditional  for  choice  and  activity,  in 
which  are  the  end  of  man,  but  it  does  not  choose. 
It  does  not  even  know  ends,  as  such.  It  can  judge 
of  their  attainability,  and  of  the  fitness  of  means  ; 
but  the  apprehension  and  choice  of  an  end,  and 
especially,  that  highest  act  of  the  mind,  the  choice 
of  an  ultimate  end,  belongs  to  a  higher  power. 

The  inferiority  of  the  intellect  is   also  manifest, 


11 

because  it  is  an  instrumental  and  not  a  governing 
power. 

We  cannot  too  carefully  discriminate  those  pow- 
ers in  us,  by  which  we  choose  ends,  from  those  that 
are  merely  instruments  in  their  attainment.  In  the 
one  is  wisdom,  in  the  other  talent ;  in  the  one  is 
character,  in  the  other  capacity;  in  the  one,  the  man 
himself  acts  in  his  whole  being,  and  very  person- 
ality ;  in  the  other,  the  faculties  play  on  the  surface. 
The  end  is  already  chosen,  and  the  whole  work  is 
simply  executive.  But,  as  has  been  said,  the  intel- 
lect does  not  choose.  It  is  an  axe,  a  saw,  a  hammer, 
a  piece  of  machinery  to  be  worked  by  a  power  back 
of  itself.  It  is  a  Swiss  mercenary,  that  may  be 
enlisted  in  any  cause,  good  or  bad,  and,  as  such, 
is  inferior  to  the  employing  and  directing  power. 

It  appearing  thus  that  the  intellect  is  lower  than 
the  moral  powers,  it  remains  to  show  that  the  well- 
being  of  that  which  is  lower  can  be  best  attained 
only  as  we  secure  that  of  the  higher. 

This  was  illustrated  at  length  the  last  year,  on 
an  occasion  similar  to  this.  It  was  shown  to  be 
true  of  health,  and  pleasure,  and  wealth,  and 
reputation,  and  fame ;  and  also  that  the  principle 
implied  is  incorporated  into  all  the  works  of  God. 
It  is  a  great  law  of  nature,  with  as  few  exceptions 
as  there  are  to  most  of  her  laws  ;  and  we  may 
fairly  presume,  till  the  contrary  shall  be  shown, 
that  the  intellect  is  no  exception. 

But  again,  that  the  intellect  will  be  best  culti- 
vated through  the  moral  powers  will  appear,  if  we 
compare  those  powers  with  any  other  force  by 
which  it  can  be  worked. 


12 

As  has  been  said,  the  intellect  must  be  worked 
by  something  back  of  it.  It  is  as  the  muscle,  that 
is  nothing  without  the  nerve  ;  and  its  efficiency  will 
depend  partly  on  original  structure  and  on  training, 
and  partly  on  the  power  that  lies  behind.  That 
power  must  be  some  instinct,  tendency,  appetite, 
passion,  taste,  feeling,  some  capacity  of  emotion  or 
enjoyment ;  and  if  we  make  a  comparison  among 
these,  we  shall  find  that  the  moral  powers  have  the 
advantage,  both  in  strength  and  continuance,  and 
also  in  the  unity  and  harmony  that  result  from  their 
working. 

Man's  nature  is  not  a  hive  of  faculties  without  a 
queen  bee.  It  is  not  a  mob.  It  is  rather  a  com- 
monwealth where  each  has  its  place,  and  where 
there  can  be  strength  and  continuance  and  har- 
mony of  action  only  as  the  moral  nature  is  made 
central,  and  as  all  move  and  cluster  about  that. 

If  any  force  can  compare  favorably  with  the  moral 
nature,  it  must  be  ambition.  But  ambition  refers, 
for  its  standard,  to  the  opinions  and  attainments  of 
others  ;  when  it  has  gained  its  end,  or  become 
hopeless  of  gaining  it,  its  efforts  cease.  Let  that 
end  be  but  gained,  and  it  does  not  require  the  im- 
provement of  time ;  it  knows  nothing  of  working 
in  harmony  with  God,  and  so  nothing  of  healthy, 
symmetrical,  beautiful  growth  and  development,  as 
good  in  themselves.  It  has  no  power  of  self- 
regulation,  and  so  is  often  consuming  and  self- 
destructive.  It  puts  the  mind  in  conflict  with 
itself,  and  makes  it  anxious  for  the  result.  It  is 
selfish,  repellant,  and  tends  to  isolation.  That  fol- 
lows here  which  follows  always  when  the  lower 


13 

faculty  is  disengaged  from  the  higher,  and  ceases  to 
act  in  its  light.  That  which  was  intended  to  walk 
erect  by  holding  on  to  something  above  it,  becomes 
a  serpent  going  upon  its  belly  and  eating  dust. 

But  the  moral  nature  is  stronger  than  ambition. 
It  underlies  all  true  heroism,  all  martyrdom,  and, 
by  uniting  us  to  God,  was  intended  to  be  the 
paramount  and  immortal  force  of  our  nature.  Let 
this,  then,  lie  back  of  intellectual  effort,  and  we 
have  a  permanent,  constant,  self-regulating  princi- 
ple, that  will  always  bring  the  faculties  up  to  the 
full  glow  of  a  healthful  activity,  and  forbid  them 
to  go  beyond.  Now,  the  standard  will  be  fixed, 
not  with  reference  to  others,  but  by  capacity  and 
opportunity.  The  mind  will  act  in  its  unity,  with 
no  conflict  of  its  higher  and  lower  faculties,  and 
with  no  fear  of  the  result.  Hence  there  will  be, 
not  only  strength,  but  balance  and  completeness 
and  order  and  beauty.  Not  only  will  there  be  har- 
mony among  the  faculties  themselves,  with  no  ten- 
dency to  a  repellency  of  others,  or  to  isolation ; 
but  it  will  be  felt  that  the  activity  is  with  all,  and 
for  all.  It  will  be  felt  to  be  a  struggling  towards 
that  absolute  perfection  of  one  which  is  necessary 
to  the  perfection  of  all. 

But  whatever  may  be  said  of  individuals,  of  com- 
munities there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  spiritual  and 
moral  elevation  of  a  people  would  certainly  secure 
their  general  enlightenment.  It  would  not  make 
every  individual  intellectual,  but  it  would  create  a 
summer  atmosphere  for  the  quickening  and  growth 
of  intellect,  that  would  rest  alike  upOn  the  hill-top 
and  in  the  valley,  and  would  solicit  every  latent 


14 

capacity.  The  higher  faculties  would  so  strike 
down,  and  stimulate  and  appropriate  the  lower, 
that  there  would  be,  if  not  technical  intellectual- 
ism,  yet  a  broad,  balanced,  directive  intelligence 
which  would,  as  by  instinct,  bear  society  on  to  its 
right  ends ;  and  in  the  light  and  under  the  stim- 
ulus of  which,  individual  growth,  whether  humble 
or  gigantic,  would  be  most  favored.  Then  would 
the  necessity  of  toil  be  no  longer  a  blessing  to 
man  by  keeping  him  from  mischief.  Leisure  would 
be  a  blessing.  A  community  let  loose  into  that, 
would  rise  like  a  bird.  Under  the  power  of  moral 
motives,  leisure — the  power  to  do  what  we  please 
— would  be  equivalent  to  a  college  education,  and 
the  works  of  God  would  be  to  every  man  a  univer- 
sity. Without  these  motives,  even  a  college  educa- 
tion becomes,  within  the  limits  of  possible  grad- 
uation, a  systematic  evasion  of  study,  the  works  of 
God  are  a  blank,  and  this  furnished  world  becomes 
a  pig-stye  or  a  pandemonium.  It  is  in  the  use  to 
be  made  of  its  leisure,  that  the  problem  of  the  race 
lies.  Who  shall  drain  this  bog? — hitherto  a  bog 
bearing  weeds  and  sending  up  miasm — who  shall 
drain  it,  and  make  it  healthful  and  fruitful  \  Tell 
me  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  leisure  that  a  ma- 
chinery, gigantic  and  tiny,  myriad-handed  and  half- 
reasoning,  is  beginning  to  give,  and  will  yet  give 
more  fully  to  the  race,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  the 
destiny  of  the  race  will  be.  To  the  opportunities 
and  facilities  it  will  furnish,  for  intellectual  and 
social  elevation,  there  is  scarcely  a  limit ;  there  is 
none  to  the  sensuality  and  degradation  which  may 
grow  from  its  abuse.     But  intellect  in  the  service 


15 

of  the  passions  tends  downwards.  Only  from  the 
sense  of  obligation  and  the  free  play  of  those  spir- 
itual affinities  by  which  we  are  united  to  God,  will 
there  be  the  broad  light  of  an  intellectual  day. 

We  conclude,  then,  that  the  higher  intellectual 
power,  whether  of  the  individual  or  of  the  com- 
munity, can  be  reached  only  by  waiting  on  God, 
and  by  the  culture,  through  that,  of  the  spiritual 
and  moral  powers. 

If,  now,  it  be  inquired  how  the  impression  of 
intellectual  power  has  come  to  be  associated  with 
skepticism  and  wickedness,  an  answer  may  be 
found,  first,  in  the  fields  of  literature  and  specu- 
lation commonly  entered  by  the  skeptical  and 
licentious.  These  are  those  of  imagination,  wit, 
ridicule,  and  transcendental  metaphysics.  Often, 
pervaded  by  a  sneer,  and  quietly  assuming  the  false- 
ness of  religion  and  the  weakness  or  hypocrisy  of 
those  who  profess  it,  we  have,  in  novels,  in  poetry, 
in  essays,  a  combination  of  all  these.  Their  object, 
the  last  excepted,  is  not  truth,  but  impression  ; 
and  this  last  is  as  yet  so  overrun  with  strange 
terms,  so  the  common  ground  of  truth,  falsehood, 
and  nonsense,  each  aping  the  profound,  that  it  is 
difficult  to  say  whether  it  is  better  as  a  hunting- 
ground  for  truth,  or  a  stalking-ground  for  vanity, 
or  a  hiding-place  for  falsehood.  That  there  is 
power  in  this  literature,  is  not  denied  ;  but  the 
power  of  imagination,  wit,  assumption,  and  even 
of  bathos,  is  not  distinguished  from  that  of  fair 
and  searching  investigation. 

A  second  answer  we  find  in  the  effect  upon  the 


16 

mind  of  all  irregular  action,  especially  when  com- 
bined with  daring,  or  fool-hardiness.  The  utmost 
power  of  a  horse,  exerted  in  the  true  line  of  draft, 
will  excite  no  attention.  Half  the  power  put  forth 
in  rearing  and  plunging,  will  draw  a  crowd  about 
him.  A  cheap  method  of  notoriety,  the  world 
over,  is  this  rearing  and  plunging.  Sam.  Patch, 
leaping  over  Genessee  Falls,  could  gather  a  greater 
crowd  than  Daniel  Webster.  The  great  powers 
of  nature,  those  by  which  she  wheels  up  her  sun, 
and  navigates  her  planets,  and  lifts  vegetation, 
and  circulates  her  waters,  by  which  she  holds  her- 
self in  her  unity  and  manifests  her  diversity,  are 
regular,  quiet,  within  the  traces  of  law,  and  excite 
no  attention.  Here  and  there  the  quiet  eye  of  a 
philosopher  expands  in  permanent  wonder,  but 
from  the  very  fact,  the  greatest  wonder  of  all,  that 
these  forces  are  so  clothed  in  order  and  tempered 
with  gentleness,  they  are  to  the  multitude  nothing. 
Not  so  with  volcanoes  and  earthquakes,  with  hurri- 
canes and  thunder-storms,  with  water-spouts  and 
cataracts.  These  are  irregular  manifestations  of 
the  great  forces  that  lie  back  of  them.  Compared 
with  those  forces,  they  are  only  as  the  eddy  to  the 
river  ;  only  as  the  opening  of  the  side-valve  and 
the  hiss  of  the  steam  compared  with  the  force  of 
the  engine  that  is  bearing  on  the  long  train  ;  and 
yet  these  are  the  wonders  of  the  world.  So  with 
the  mind.  When  it  respects  order  and  law,  when 
it  seeks  the  ends  and  moves  in  the  channels 
appointed  by  God,  its  mightiest  and  most  benefi- 
cent movements  excite  comparatively  little  atten- 
tion.    But  combine  now  irregularity  with  audacity ; 


17 

open  a  side  valve  ;  assail  the  foundations  of  belief; 
make  it  impossible  for  God  to  work  a  miracle,  or 
to  prove  it  if  he  should  ;  turn  history  into  a  myth  ; 
show  your  consciousness  of  power  by  setting  your- 
self against  the  race  ;  natter  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury ;  dethrone  God ;  if  you  make  the  universe 
God,  yourself  being  a  part  of  it,  so  much  the 
better, — do  thus,  and  there  will  not  be  wanting 
those  who  will  despise  the  plodders,  and  hail  you 
as  "  the  coming  man." 

I  have  thus  endeavored  to  show,  first,  that  moral 
goodness  is  the  only  exception,  on  this  earth,  to  the 
law  of  decay  ;  and,  secondly,  that  it  is  the  condition 
of  the  highest  intellectual  power,  both  for  the 
individual  and  the  race. 

In  the  light  of  these  propositions  we  may  see, 
first,  what  must  be  the  essential  elements  in  the 
promised  kingdom  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

They  must  be  righteousness  and  knowledge.  So 
says  the  prophet.  "  The  people  shall  be  all  right- 
eous :  they  shall  inherit  the  land  forever."  "  And 
the  work  of  righteousness  shall  be  peace,  and  the 
effect  of  righteousness,  quietness  and  assurance 
forever."  "  And  wisdom  and  knowledge  shall  be 
the  stability  of  thy  times,  and  strength  of  salvation." 
This  gives  the  line  and  order  of  effort  for  all  who 
wrould  labor  for  Christ.  Not  for  an  unintelligent 
piety — well-meaning,  but  blundering — are  they  to 
labor ;  not  for  a  superstition  without  knowledge, 
calling  itself  righteousness,  but  weak,  sentimental 
and  showy — bolstered  up  by  the  fine  arts  and  wire- 
pulled  by  a  hierarchy  ;  not  for  knowledge  without 
3 


18 

righteousness,  sensualized,  self-conceited  and  pre- 
sumptuous ;  but  for  a  combination  of  righteousness 
and  knowledge  working  together  like  the  warmth 
and  the  light,  every  where  pervading  society  in  its 
free,  oceanic,  and  multitudinous  action,  and  building 
it  up  into  the  order  and  beauty  of  heaven. 

In  the  second  place  you,  my  Beloved  Friends  of 
the  Graduating  Class,  will  see  what  you  are  to  do 
in  carrying  out  your  own  education. 

That  education  you  have,  I  trust,  entered  upon  not 
wholly  from  worldly  ends,  but  with  some  reference 
to  the  state  of  your  permanent  being,  and  to  an  im- 
mortal progress.  For  it,  many  of  you  have  made  sac- 
rifices, and  have  applied  yourselves  laboriously  and 
faithfully.  That  education  is  but  begun.  Probably 
you  have  never  felt  more  painfully  than  now  the 
limitations,  the  inadequacy,  the  relative  nothing- 
ness of  your  knowledge.  If  you  have  any  thing 
of  the  spirit  of  the  instructions  you  have  received, 
of  the  spirit  of  a  scholar  and  of  a  true  man,  what- 
ever profession  or  business  you  may  follow,  you 
will  give  a  portion  of  your  time  to  the  cultivation 
of  learning,  and  the  acquisition  of  mental  power. 
Grow,  my  friends  ;  seek  to  grow.  But  as  a  condi- 
tion of  a  growth  that  shall  be  permanent,  healthful, 
symmetrical,  do  not  ignore  that  interaction  of  the 
higher  and  lower  powers  which  is  like  that  of  the 
leaves  and  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  As  in  that, 
elaboration,  assimilation  and  ultimate  growth  are 
from  above,  so  it  is  only  through  the  higher  moral 
nature  that  the  sap  of  knowledge  is  converted  into 
wisdom.  If  your  chief  sphere  of  study  were  to 
be   the    abstract   sciences,   cold,    and    passionless, 


19 

where,  as  in  mathematics,  the  relations  depend  on 
no  will,  your  moral  state  would  be  of  less  moment ; 
but  your  chief  sphere  is  to  be  nature  and  man, 
where  every  thing  is  constituted  by  design,  and 
where  the  key  to  the  whole  structure  and  to  each 
particular  department  is  to  be  found  in  ends  and 
uses.  Here  love,  trust,  sympathy,  will  be  stimu- 
lants of  thought  and  elements  of  moral  power. 
Nature  is  from  God  no  less  than  mind.  It 
was  made  for  mind.  It  reflects  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  God.  It  is  understood  only  as  the 
thoughts  of  God  in  it  are  reached,  and  it  must  be 
that,  as  we  are  in  a  right  moral  state,  and  in  sym- 
pathy with  God,  we  shall  have  a  finer  sense  and  a 
quicker  sympathy  on  the  side  of  nature.  She  will 
open  herself  to  us  more  fully,  and  become,  in  a  far 
higher  sense,  a  companion  and  an  educating  power. 
But  let  now  a  man  study  nature  with  a  scoffing 
spirit,  and  he  must  fail  of  insight.  His  stand- 
point will  be  wrong.  Movements  that  are  onward 
and  beautiful  when  seen  from  the  centre,  will  seem 
to  him  retrograde  and  perplexing.  The  sweetest 
voices  of  nature,  her  hymns,  he  cannot  hear ;  her 
highest  beauties  he  cannot  see,  her  profoundest 
teachings  are  to  him  mere  babble.  Jeers,  sarcasm, 
fault-finding,  exciting  no  enthusiasm,  with  no  re- 
action on  thought,  with  no  element  of  satisfaction 
except  as  they  minister  to  notoriety,  will  take  the 
place  of  admiration,  love,  adoration,  by  which 
thought  is  naturally  quickened  and  rewarded. 
Would  you  study  the  works  of  God,  and  your- 
selves as  a  part  of  those  works,  be  in  harmony 
with  yourselves,  and  in  sympathy  with  God. 


20 

But  thirdly.  Not  only  are  you  to  educate 
yourselves,  opening  your  minds  to  all  light,  and 
putting  forth  all  effort,  but  directly  and  indirectly 
you  will  have  much  to  do  in  educating  the  commu- 
nity, and  you  will  see,  in  the  light  of  this  subject, 
your  duty  in  that  regard. 

You  will  neither  form,  nor  encourage,  any  ex- 
travagant expectations  from  what  is  commonly  called 
education.  Not  so  will  society  grow  up  into  its 
true  life.  If  there  be  that  above  the  intellect  to 
which  it  ought  to  be  subservient,  but  is  not,  then 
there  will  be  a  law  of  degradation  even  in  its  own 
activity.  Education  will  become,  either  simply  an 
accomplishment,  or  a  drudge.  It  will  do  nothing 
towards  removing  the  follies  and  weaknesses  of 
society  ;  so  that  you  will  find,  as  we  now  do,  com- 
munities claiming  to  be  the  most  highly  educated, 
pervaded,  even  more  than  others,  with  a  credulity 
and  a  superstition  that  would  have  disgraced  the 
days  of  witchcraft,  but  without  the  earnestness  which 
saved  those  from  being  contemptible.  This  we  may 
satirize  and  deplore,  but,  under  the  system,  it  can- 
not be  helped.  The  only  true  method  is  that  of  our 
Saviour.  Nothing  now  on  the  earth,  or  that  ever  has 
been,  can  compare  with  Christianity  in  its  educat- 
ing power.  Wherever  it  has  been  in  its  purity, 
the  standard  of  general  education  has  always  been 
highest.  It  is  so  now.  You  cannot  have  a  pure 
Christianity  without  general  education,  while  yet 
education,  as  such,  is  not  the  object  of  Christianity 
at  all.  Its  educating  power  results  solely  from  its 
reaching  and  controlling  that  which  is  highest,  and 
from     the     necessary    stimulus     and     rectification 


21 

through  that,  according  to  the  principle  laid  down, 
of  all  that  is  lower.  So  has  it  wrought  from  the 
beginning ;  so  will  it  work,  and  only  in  and 
through  this  can  you  work  effectually.  Hence 
one  great  blessing  of  those  revivals  of  religion 
with  which  God  has  blessed  our  colleges — of  that 
revival  with  which  he  has  blessed  us  the  past  year, 
and  for  which  we  thank  and  adore  him.  Hence 
you  will  make,  simply  as  educators,  a  capital 
mistake,  if  you  do  not  seek  to  enthrone  Christian- 
ity in  all  our  seats  of  learning,  and  to  extend  and 
deepen  its  influence  in  every  possible  way.  Hence 
no  institution,  not  pervaded  by  Christianity,  can 
do  much  in  really  educating  and  elevating  the 
community. 

Finally,  we  see  from  this  subject  where  lies  the 
permanent  strength  and  the  true  good  of  man. 

It  is  much  to  know,  that  there  is  any  one  thing 
on  this  earth  that  does  not  decay  ;  that  while  the 
body  is  constant  only  by  change,  and  its  identity  is 
only  similarity,  there  is  in  the  mind  a  central  point 
that  is  unchangeable,  and  an  identity  that  is  abso- 
lute. It  is  more  to  know  that  in  this  we  find  our 
true  selves,  that  by  this  we  are  allied  to  God. 
This  takes  us  out  of  the  sphere  of  that  lawT  of 
uniformities,  in  the  light  of  which  we  have  hitherto 
chiefly  regarded  this  subject,  and  brings  us  into 
that  of  free  personalities.  Made  in  the  image  of 
God,  allied  to  him  as  personal  and  free,  we  have 
faculties,  call  them  moral,  call  them  spiritual,  by 
which  we  apprehend  him,  and  through  which  we 
became  receptive  of  influences  from  him.  These 
influences  imply  no  inspiration  of  particular  truths 


22 

as  to  prophets  and  seers,  but  are  open  to  the  race. 
They  come  as  the  tide  to  the  stranded  vessel  that 
gradually  surrounds  it,  and  lifts  it  up,  and  bears 
it  into  the  depths  and  boundlessness  of  its  appro- 
priate element.  By  these  influences,  respecting 
the  laws  of  our  freedom,  and  the  bounds  of  our 
individuality,  the  Spirit  of  God  enlightens,  sus- 
tains, purifies,  exalts  us,  and  makes  us  partakers 
of  his  own  blessedness.  This  is  the  Scripture 
doctrine  of  the  indwelling  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  that 
last  link  in  the  work  of  human  salvation,  by 
which,  all  incompatibilities  of  justice  and  mercy 
having  been  removed,  the  law  becomes  written  in 
the  heart,  and  we  are  brought  to  rest  in  the 
activity  of  a  full  and  unceasing  complacency  in  a 
holy  and  infinite  God.  Thus  God  himself  becomes 
the  portion  of  the  soul.  Thus  do  we  enter  into 
the  "  fullness  of  him  that  filleth  all  in  all." 
Beyond  this,  nothing  of  good  can  be  conceived  of. 
This  is  our  rest  —  our  ultimate  goal.  This  it  is 
that  we  yearn  after ;  in  the  congruity  of  this  to 
the  mind,  and  in  the  deep,  conscious  want  of  it,  it 
is  that  we  find  the  solution  of  those  enthusiasms, 
and  extravagancies,  and  distortions  of  the  religious 
nature,  which  have  made  religion  a  by-word. 
These  suppose  a  capacity  and  need  of  communion 
with  God  just  as  insanity  supposes  reason,  and 
they  will  cease  only  when  that  communion  returns. 
Do  you,  my  friends,  accept  this  doctrine  1  Will 
you  accept  it  practically  ?  Will  you  open  the 
way  for  the  coming  into  your  own  souls  of  divine 
light  and  divine  help  I  Will  you  put  away  sin  ? 
This   is   the  one   condition  of  a  pure  light  and  a 


23 

true   elevation.     You  must  begin  with  the  heart, 
for  onlv  the   pure  in  heart  can  see  God,  and  only 
as   we  see  him,  and  in  his   light,  can  we  see  all 
other  things  in   their  true  proportions.     Will  you 
then    open   yourselves    fully  to    the   light  of   the 
divine  teachings,  and  to   the  intimacy  of  a  divine 
communion  \     Not  only  morally,  but  intellectually, 
will   the   answer  to   this   question  be  the  turning 
point  in  your  destiny.     The  question  involved  in 
this   doctrine  of  a  divine  communion  and  help,  is 
the  cardinal  one  for  the  race.     At  every  point  this 
doctrine  meets  not  only  our  weaknesses  and  wants, 
but  also  our  sinfulness,  and  so  transcends  all  trans- 
cendentalism,  and   all   possible    philosophies    and 
devices  of  man.     It  is  not  merely  a  philosophy, 
but  a  redemption   and  a  remedy,  a  companionship 
and  a  portion.     Without  this  doctrine,  man  is  but 
a  waif  upon  the   waters,   a  severed   branch    that 
must  perish.     With  it,  he  is  united  to  God,  and  so 
there  is  nothing  too  great  for  him  to  hope.     With 
it,  the  figure  of  the  text  —  "they  shall  mount  up 
with  wings  as  eagles  "  —  is  fully  justified.     See  the 
eagle  as  he  leaves  his  perch.     He  flaps  his  broad 
wings,  and  moves  heavily.     Slowly  he  lifts  himself 
above  the  horizon,  till  the  inspiration  of  a  freer  air 
quickens  him.     Now  there  is  new  lightning  in  his 
eye,  and  new  strength  in  his  pinions.     See — how 
he  mounts  !     Now  he  is  midway  in  the  heavens. 
Higher  he   rises  —  still  higher.     Now  his    broad 
circles  are  narrowing  to  a  point — he  is  fading  away 
in  the  deep  blue.     Now  he  is  but  a  speck.     Now 
he  is  gone.     To  the  eye  of  sense,  and  for  the  pur- 
pose of  the  figure,  it  is  an  endless,  upward  flight. 


24 

Such  a  flight,  my  dear  friends,  may  be  yours ;  but 
only  as  you  yield  yourselves  to  be  upborne  by  an 
all-encompassing  and  an  omnipotent  Love.  You 
are,  indeed,  youths,  the  very  youths  spoken  of  in 
the  text ;  for  this  word  is  for  all  ages  ;  but  in  the 
dusty  and  thronged  ways  of  life  you  will  faint  and 
be  weary.  Yes,  the  hours  will  come  when  you  will 
be,  O,  how  weary  !  You  are  young  men  ;  but  the 
strength  of  nature  will  depart,  and,  relying  only  on 
this,  you  shall  utterly  fall.  Only  "  the  Everlasting 
God,  the  Lord,  the  Creator  of  the  ends  of  the 
earth,"  who  "  fainteth  not,  neither  is  weary,"  can 
gird  you  for  the  coming  conflict  and  sustain  you. 
Wait  upon  Him,  and  you  ;'  shall  mount  up  with 
wings  as  eagles  ;  you  shall  run,  and  not  be  weary  ; 
and  you  shall  walk,  and  not  faint." 

In  addressing  to  you  this  parting  counsel,  in 
which  all  is  thus  seen  to  depend  upon  God,  I  am 
permitted  to  address,  as  one  of  you,  my  own  son. 
I  rejoice  that  he  has  been  one  of  you.  And  now, 
with  the  most  pleasing  recollections  of  the  past, 
cherishing  for  you  all  the  spirit  of  a  father,  com- 
mending you  all  to  that  God  who  alone  is  able  to 
keep  and  to  guide  you,  I  close  by  addressing  to 
him  and  to  you  the  words  of  one  of  old,  who  was 
also  a  father.  "  And  thou,  Solomon,  my  son,  know 
thou  the  God  of  thy  father,  and  serve  him  with  a 
perfect  heart  and  with  a  willing  mind :  for  the 
Lord  searcheth  all  hearts,  and  understandeth  all 
the  imaginations  of  the  thoughts  :  if  thou  seek  him, 
he  will  be  found  of  thee  ;  but  if  thou  forsake  him, 
he  will  cast  thee  off  forever." 


THE    MANIFOLDNESS    OF     MAN. 


BACCALAUREATE   SERMON, 


DELIVERED   AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,   MS. 


JULY     31,    1859 


BY     MARK    HOPKINS,    D.D 

President  of  Williams  College. 


PUBLISHED    BY   REQUEST   OF  THE   CLASS. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &   SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
18  5  9. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


LUKE   i.  66. 

WHAT   MANNER    OF    CHILD    SHALL    THIS   BE? 

The  circumstances  preceding  and  attending  the 
birth  of  John  the  Baptist,  were  extraordinary.  As 
his  father,  Zacharias,  then  "well  stricken  in  years," 
"  executed  the  priest's  office  before  God  in  the  or- 
der of  his  course,"  "  there  appeared  unto  him  an 
angel  of  the  Lord  standing  on  the  right  hand  of 
the  altar  of  incense,"  and  foretold  the  birth  of  the 
child.  When  Zacharias  did  not  believe  him,  "  the 
angel  answering  said  unto  him,  I  am  Gabriel,  that 
stand  in  the  presence  of  God,  and  am  sent  to  speak 
unto  thee,  and  to  show  thee  these  glad  tidings. 
And  behold,  thou  shalt  be  dumb,  and  not  able  to 
speak,  until  the  day  that  these  things  shall  be  per- 
formed." Accordingly  Zacharias  was  dumb  until 
the  time  came  for  naming  the  child.  Then,  after 
he  had  written  the  name  given  by  the  angel,  "  his 
mouth  was  opened  immediately,  and  his  tongue 
loosed,  and  he  spake  and  praised  God."  These 
things  "  were  noised  abroad  throughout  all  the 
hill-country  of  Judea;"  and  it  is  not  strange  that 


"  all  they  that  heard  them  laid  them  up  in  their 
hearts,"  or  that  they  said,  "  What  manner  of  child 
shall  this  be  X "  Of  a  child  whose  birth  was  thus 
heralded  and  signalized,  something  extraordinary 
could  not  fail  to  be  expected. 

But  while  this  inquiry  was  thus  naturally  made 
respecting  John,  may  it  not  also  be  appropriately 
made  respecting  every  child  that  is  born  1  There 
may  be  nothing  extraordinary,  either  in  connection 
with  the  birth  of  the  child,  or  with  the  child  itself, 
and  yet  that  child  shall  be  different  from  every 
other  child  that  ever  was  born,  or  ever  shall  be ; 
and  its  capacities  of  development,  and  the  possi- 
bilities of  its  future,  shall  run  in  lines  of  such 
divergency  from  those  of  every  other,  that  we  may 
well  ask  respecting  it,  "  What  manner  of  child 
shall  this  be  1 " 

There  is  nothing  in  the  works  of  God  more 
striking  than  the  differences  there  are  of  things 
that  are  similar,  and  the  similarities  of  things  that 
are  different.  In  the  perception  of  these  two  we 
have  the  element  of  science  on  the  one  hand,  and 
of  practical  skill  on  the  other.  So  far  as  beings  or 
things  are  similar,  they  may  be  named  alike,  and 
treated  alike,  and  so  a  knowledge  of  one  becomes 
the  knowledge  of  all.  This  is  science.  Through 
this  the  individuals  which  God  has  made,  vast  as 
they  are  in  number  and  variety,  are  marshaled,  and 
ranged  in  regiments,  and  battalions,  and  companies. 
In  this,  and  so  far  as  it  goes,  exceptions  and  indi- 
vidualities disappear ;  what  seemed  promiscuous 
and   irregular  falls   into  order,  and  the   universe 


assumes  the  appearance  of  troops  marching  and 
countermarching  in  a  grand  review.  But  so  far  as 
things  are  different,  each  individual  must  be  studied 
by  itself,  and  treated  by  itself;  and  as  differences 
constantly  appear,  they  furnish  the  occasion  of 
constant  study.  Thus  it  is  that  through  similar- 
ities the  dictionary  of  human  knowledge  is  greatly 
abridged,  while,  through  diversities,  the  faculties 
are  kept  constantly  awake.  At  the  point  where 
we  cease  to  discriminate  differences,  all  interest 
ceases  from  uniformity  and  monotony.  At  the 
point  where  we  cease  to  discern  similarities,  inter- 
est again  ceases  from  diversity  and  confusion. 

But  while  these  elements  pervade  the  works  of 
God,  while  our  scientific  interest  in  those  works 
and  practical  power  over  them  are  from  these,  yet 
are  they  nowhere  more  striking,  and  nowhere  as 
interesting  to  us,  as  in  man.  Every  man  has,  and 
as  a  man  must  have,  the  great  features  and  char- 
acteristics which  make  him  a  man,  and  yet  how 
infinite  the  diversity  !  No  two  are  there  that  look 
alike,  no  two  that  think  alike,  no  two  that  act 
alike ;  and  doubtless  this  diversity  will  become 
greater  and  greater,  so  long  as  they  shall  exist. 
Here,  and  here  only,  in  this  diversity  ever  increas- 
ing yet  not  divorced  from  unity,  do  we  find  the 
basis  of  a  harmony  that  shall  also  ever  increase. 

This  diversity  it  was  which  was  implied  in  the 
question  of  the  text.  That  referred  not  merely  to 
the  childhood,  but  to  the  whole  career  of  John. 
What  manner  of  man  should  he  become  X  What 
part    should  he  perform  in   the   great   drama   of 


human  affairs  X  Should  he  be  a  monarch,  a  con- 
queror, a  sage,  a  lawgiver  \  Should  he  play  over 
again  the  old  games  of  ambition,  and  pleasure,  and 
gain  1  or  should  he  be  something  new  and  fresh  in 
the  world's  history  X 

The  question  supposes  a  great  difference  between 
the  child  then,  and  what  he  would  become.  And 
how  great  was  that  difference !  Now  he  is  an  in- 
fant of  eight  days,  with  no  visible  distinction  from 
other  infants  ;  just  as  helpless  and  dependent.  A 
Pharisee  might  have  taken  him  under  the  enlarged 
border  of  his  garments,  and  have  borne  him  through 
the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  and  no  one  have  known  it. 
But  pass  on  now  thirty  years,  and  what  is  he  X  He 
is  "  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness,  Pre- 
pare ye  the  way  of  the  Lord,  make  his  paths 
straight."  He  cries,  and  all  Judea,  and  Jerusalem, 
and  the  region  round  about  Jordan  are  stirred,  and 
go  out  to  him.  He  is  the  fulfillment  of  prophecies 
made  centuries  before,  the  forerunner  of  the  Mes- 
siah, a  bright  and  shining  light,  one  of  whom  it 
could  truly  be  said,  that  of  those  born  of  women, 
there  had  been  none  greater  than  he. 

But  great  as  this  change  was,  there  was  nothing 
in  it  so  unusual  as  to  attract  attention.  The  man 
attracted  attention,  but  not  the  change.  This  was 
so  gradual,  that  wonder  was  superseded  by  famil- 
iarity. It  was  but  a  single  exemplification  of  a 
general  law.     Hence  I  observe,  in  the  first  place, 

That  there  is  a  great  difference  in  all  organic 
beings,  between  what  they  are  at  first,  and  what 
we  see  them  become. 


We  might  ask  of  any  seed  just  germinating, 
What  manner  of  plant  shall  this  be  ?  See ;  here 
is  a  point  of  green  just  visible.  Look  again.  It 
has  become  a  violet,  with  its  eye  on  the  sun, 
suffused  with  beauty,  and  throbbing  with  the  pulses 
of  the  universal  life.  Here  is  a  filmy  substance ;  it 
lies  upon  the  palm  of  your  hand,  and  a  breath 
will  blow  it  away.  From  this,  too,  emerges  a 
point  of  green  no  larger  than  the  other,  and  with 
no  perceptible  difference  between  them.  But  this 
shall  become  the  elm  with  its  pendent  branches, 
towering  and  spreading,  the  pride  of  the  meadow. 
We  may  ask  the  egg,  '  What  manner  of  creature 
shall  this  be  \ '  Now  there  is  in  it  a  beating 
speck — a  mere  point  that  pulsates.  The  philoso- 
pher is  peering  at  it  through  his  microscope, 
searching  for  the  principle  of  life,  as  the,  child 
chases  the  foot  of  the  rainbow.  That  principle  he 
finds  not,  he  shall  not  find  it,  but  it  embodies  and 
perfects  itself,  and  from  points  ^indistinguishable,  it 
becomes  now  a  wren,  chattering  and  vivacious;  now 
a  golden  oriole,  warbling  and  weaving  its  pendent 
nest ;  now  a  solemn  owl ;  a  peacock,  with  its 
"  goodly  wings  ; "  an  ostrich,  with  its  "  wings  and 
feathers,"  fleet  and  powerful ;  an  eagle,  screaming 
and  breasting  the  storm-cloud  far  in  the  sky.  It 
is  indeed  now  said,  that  every  plant,  from  the 
lichen  to  the  oak,  and  every  animal,  from  the 
insect  to  man,  has  its  beginning  in  a  single  cell. 
It  is  in  these  cells,  undistinguishable  by  us,  that 
Omniscience  can  see  the  future,  and  from  them 
that  Omnipotence  can  call  "  the  things  that  are 
not,  as  though  they  were." 


8 

This  capacity  of  transformation  and  growth,  by 
which  beings  seem  to  us  to  pass  from  the  very 
verge  of  nonentity  to  great  perfection  and  magni- 
tude and  power,  is  among  the  most  striking  char- 
acteristics of  the  present  state.  It  is  also  one 
which  we  think  of,  and  Revelation  confirms  the 
impression,  as  belonging  to  this  state  alone.  There 
are  not  wanting  those  who  believe  that  this  world 
is  the  nursery  for  peopling  this  planetary  system  at 
least,  if  not  the  worlds  scattered  through  all  space. 

The  individuals  thus  starting  from  what  seems  a 
common  point,  are  different  in  rank,  and  fall  into 
different  classes  ;  and  we  next  inquire  what  the 
rank  of  each  will  be. 

The  rank  of  each  will  be  determined,  first,  by  its 
rank  in  its  own  class  ;  and,  secondly,  by  the  rank 
of  the  class. 

The  rank  of  an  individual  in  its  own  class  will 
be  determined  by  its  capacity  of  development,  and 
by  its  actual  development  in  one  direction.  The 
California  pine  may  reach  a  circumference  of  thirty 
feet,  and  a  height  of  three  hundred  and  fifty,  and 
so  be  the  first  of  its  class  ;  but  it  is  by  a  repetition 
always  of  the  same  processes,  an  extension  and 
increase  in  one  line.  Between  the  greatest  and  the 
least  of  them  there  is  no  difference,  except  that  of 
development  in  a  particular  direction.  Among 
men,  a  man  will  be  really  first,  who  possesses  most 
perfectly  what  is  distinctively  human  ;  and  in  gen- 
eral, whatever  individual  of  a  class  shall  manifest 
most  fully  its  distinctive  characteristic,  will  be  the 
first  in  that  class. 


But  while  rank  in  a  class  is  determined  by 
development  in  one  direction,  the  rank  of  a  class 
is  determined  by  the  capacity  of  individuals  in  it 
for  development  in  different  directions  ;  thus  giving 
wide  scope  to  the  imagination  in  answering  the 
question,  '  What  manner  of  being  shall  this  be  \ ' 
The  power  in  a  tree  of  varying  from  a  given  line 
is  as  nothing.  So  it  can  grow,  so  only.  In  ani- 
mals, this  power  is  greater ;  in  man,  greater  still — 
and  the  more  things  it  is  possible  for  him  to  be- 
come, the  more  complex  must  be  his  nature,  and 
the  higher  his  rank.  As  the  scheme  of  the  creation 
is,  that  that  which  is  above  takes  up  into  itself  all 
that  is  below,  the  more  complex  the  nature  is,  the 
higher  it  must  be,  the  more  directions  it  may  take, 
and  the  greater  is  the  uncertainty  that  must  hang 
about  its  final  destiny. 

And  here  I  observe,  in  the  third  place,  that,  in 
sensitive  and  moral  beings,  a  capacity  of  develop- 
ment in  one  direction  involves  its  opposite,  and 
that  in  an  equal  degree.  In  this  we  find  startling 
indications  respecting  the  possibilities  of  our  future. 
In  creatures  merely  sensitive,  perhaps  a  different 
constitution  was  possible,  but  we  know  of  no  in- 
stance of  it.  A  capacity  for  pleasure  always  in- 
volves that  of  pain,  and,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  in 
a  degree  precisely  correspondent.  But  whatever 
may  be  possible  in  the  region  of  simple  enjoyment, 
in  a  moral  being  the  capacity  of  development  in 
one  direction  must  imply  that  in  the  other.  He 
who  is  capable  of  moral  elevation,  must  also  be  of 
moral  degradation.     He,  and  he  only,  who  is  capa- 


10 

ble  of  great  moral  excellence,  is  capable  of  great 
sin.  This  is  the  basis  of  the  maxim,  universally 
true,  that  the  best  things,  corrupted,  become  the 
worst.  The  better,  the  higher,  the  purer,  the  no- 
bler any  being  is  capable  of  becoming,  the  more 
utter  and  awful  may  be  its  downfall  and  ruin.  It 
requires  an  angel  to  make  a  devil. 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  appears  that  the 
rank  of  man  will  be  determined  by  the  range 
of  his  possible  development  in  different  directions. 
And  how  wide  is  that  range  !  How  different  in 
this  is  man  from  any  other  being  on  the  earth  ! 
Let  us  look  at  the  breadth  of  this  range,  first,  in 
respect  to  belief.  An  animal  cannot  be  said  to 
believe  at  all,  but  for  an  infant  how  wide  is  the 
range  of  possible  belief!  Wonderful  is  it,  that 
with  the  same  faculties,  thrown  into  the  same 
world,  with  the  same  phenomena,  and  orders  of 
succession,  and  similarities  and  differences,  such  a 
range  should  be  possible.  Especially  is  this  true 
of  religious  belief,  where  the  range  is  the  widest 
conceivable. 

Here  are  two  infants  just  opening  their  eyes 
upon  the  light,  and  beginning  to  gather  those 
materials  which  are  to  be  the  basis  of  their  belief. 
"What  manner  of  men  shall  they  be  \  They  seem 
alike ;  but  when  manhood  comes,  one  of  them 
shall  stand  upon  this  earth  so  full  of  the  goodness 
of  God,  under  these  heavens  which  declare  his 
glory,  he  shall  see  all  there  is  in  them  of  order, 
and  beauty,  and  beneficence,  and  yet  be  an  atheist. 


11 

Causeless,  aimless,  fatherless,  hopeless,  with  noth- 
ing to  respond  to  his  deepest  wants,  for  him  the 
universe  shall  be  whirled  in  the  eddies  of  chance, 
or  swept  on  by  the  current  of  a  blind  and  remorse- 
less fate.  The  other  shall  believe  that  there  is  one 
God,  infinite,  eternal  and  unchangeable,  omnipo- 
tent and  omnipresent,  holy,  just  and  merciful,  the 
Creator  and  Governor  of  all  things,  to  whom  he 
may  look  up  and  say,  My  Father.  For  him,  com- 
pared with  this  God,  the  universe  is  as  nothing. 
In  Him  it  has  its  being.  It  is  irradiated  with  his 
glory,  as  the  evening  cloud  with  the  glory  of  the 
setting  sun.  Except  as  expressing  his  attributes 
and  indicating  his  purposes,  it  had  no  grandeur 
and  no  significance. 

One  of  these  again  shall  look  forward  to  death, 
and  see  in  it  the  end  of  man.  For  him,  the  sullen 
sound  sent  back  from  his  coffin  when  the  sod  falls 
upon  it,  is  the  last  which  the  conscious  universe  is 
to  know  of  each  individual  man,  unless,  indeed, 
the  geologist  of  some  future  era  may  find  in  the 
impression  of  his  bones,  a  record  of  this.  For 
him,  man  has,  in  death,  no  pre-eminence  over  the 
beast.  By  the  other,  death  shall  be  welcomed  as  a 
friend.  It  shall  be  for  him  the  beginning  of  a 
higher  life,  of  clearer  insight,  of  purer  joys,  of  a 
greater  nearness  to  God,  and  of  an  unending  pro- 
gression.    He  shall 

"  The  darkening  universe  defy, 
To  quench  his  immortality." 

He  shall  believe  with  a  certainty  that  shall  enable 
him  to  say  with  one  of  old,  that  he  knows  'that 


12 

if  this  earthly  house  of  his  tabernacle  were  dis- 
solved, he  has  a  building  of  God,  a  house  not  made 
with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens,'  and  so  his 
great  hope  shall  lie  beyond  the  tomb.  One  of 
these,  again,  shall  believe  in  no  accountability 
after  death  ;  the  other  shall  believe,  that  "  every 
idle  word  that  men  shall  speak,  they  shall  give 
account  thereof  in  the  day  of  judgment." 

So  these  two  may  come  to  believe,  and  yet  be 
men.  These  three  great  doctrines — of  God,  of  a 
future  life,  and  of  accountability — without  which 
there  can  be  neither  religion  nor  morality,  one 
shall  receive,  and  the  other  shall  reject.  Side  by 
side  they  may  stand,  separated  by  scarcely  a  point 
in  space ;  but  in  that  whole  interior  life  which  is 
most  intimate  and  essential  to  them,  they  are  as 
wide  asunder  as  the  poles. 

But  here  it  is  to  be  noticed,  that  while  the  pos- 
sibility of  this  divergence  in  belief  indicates  eleva- 
tion in  rank,  yet  the  fact  of  such  divergence  indi- 
cates for  some  a  low  position  in  that  rank.  A 
perfect  instinct  is  uniform.  So  is  perfect  reason, 
and  these  would  coincide.  These  are  the  extremes, 
and  between  these,  imperfection  and  diversity  lie. 
Truth  is  one,  and  a  failure  to  see  it  is  always  the 
result  either  of  feebleness  or  of  sin.  Hence,  diver- 
sity of  belief  is  not  among  those  needed  for  har- 
mony, but  the  reverse.  A  measure  of  it  is  com- 
patible with  harmony,  that  is,  such  as  this  world 
admits  of,  but  the  harmony^  of  the  universe  will  be 
perfect  only  when  all  rational  creatures,  so  far  as 
they  see  at  all,  shall  see  eye  to  eye. 


13 

But  if  the  divergence  of  men  in  religious  belief, 
and  in  all  belief,  is  great,  it  is  not  less,  and  is  even 
more  striking,  in  their  objects  of  worship. 

One  "  planteth  an  ash,  and  the  rain  doth  nour- 
ish it.  Then  shall  it  be  for  a  man  to  burn.  He 
burnetii  part  thereof  in  the  fire,  and  the  residue 
thereof  he  maketh  a  god,  even  his  graven  image  ; 
he  falleth  down  and  worshipeth  it ;  he  prayeth 
unto  it  and  saith,  Deliver  me,  for  thou  art  my 
god."  He  may  worship,  as  men  have  done,  flies, 
and  serpents,  and  crocodiles,  and  oxen,  and  the 
sun,  and  moon,  and  stars,  and  heroes,  and  devils  ; 
and  worshiping  these,  he  becomes,  so  far  as  is 
possible,  assimilated  to  them.  How  different  these 
from  Him  Avho  is  '  the  Lord,  the  true  God,  the 
living  God,  and  an  everlasting  King ; — who  hath 
made  the  earth  by  his  power,  who  hath  established 
the  world  by  his  wisdom,  and  hath  stretched  out 
the  heavens  by  his  discretion.'  And  can  the  intel- 
ligent worshiper  of  this  God,  the  holy  prophet,  or 
apostle,  rapt  in  vision,  or  swallowed  up  in  adora- 
tion, be  of  the  same  race  with  the  idolater  casting 
himself  beneath  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  or  with 
the  cannibal  savage  eating  his  victim,  and  dancing 
before  a  carved,  besmeared,  and  hideous  log  ?  Can 
it  be  that  those  who  do  thus,  might  have  changed 
places  1 

Here,  again,  diversity  is  not  the  basis  of  har- 
mony. If  harmony  requires  -diversity,  it  has  its 
root  in  unity,  the  unity  of  truth  and  of  God ;  and 
so,  of  belief  and  of  worship. 

We  may  further  ask  what  any  child  shall  be  in 


14 

position,  in  attainments,  and  in  the  extent  of  his 
influence.  Shall  he  he  a  miner,  thousands  of  feet 
beneath  the  earth's  surface,  untaught,  unknown, 
unthanked,  uncarcd  for,  with  a  mind  as  narrow 
and  as  dark  as  the  sphere  of  his  labors  1  Shall 
he  be  a  slave,  whose  range  is  the  plantation,  and 
to  whom  cupidity  and  fear  forbid  the  knowledge 
of  letters  ?  Shall  he  be  a  misanthrope,  self-exiled 
from  society,  who  dies  alone,  and  whose  body  is 
found  by  accident  %  Shall  he  be,  as  probably  he 
will,  neither  rich  nor  poor,  neither  learned  nor 
ignorant,  neither  widely  known  nor  wholly  ob- 
scure— one  of  the  countless  throng  on  life's  thor- 
oughfare of  whom  the  casual  observer  would  take 
no  note'?  Or,  shall  he  tread  the  high  places  of 
art,  of  learning,  and  of  power  ?  Shall  the  canvas 
or  the  marble  wait  for  his  touch  to  become  immor- 
tal 1  Shall  he  be  a  poet,  "  soaring  in  the  high 
region  of  his  fancy,  with  his  garland  and  singing 
robes  about  him  1 "  Shall  he  govern  nations,  com- 
mand armies,  sway  senates,  wrest  from  nature  her 
secrets,  lead  the  van  of  progress,  and  make  his 
thought  and  will  felt  over  the  globe  % 

But  chiefly  may  we  ask  concerning  any  infant, 
What  manner  of  child  shall  this  be  in  character, 
and  in  the  kind  of  influence  he  shall  exert.  Upon 
character  every  thing  depends,  and  from  this,  influ- 
ence flows.  And  shall  these  be  in  the  line,  and 
on  the  level  of  sensuality  and  of  sense1?  or  of  a 
selfish  and  all-absorbing  ambition  %  or  of  a  pure 
philanthropy'?  or  of  a  whole-hearted  consecration 
to  the  will  of  God  \     Shall  the  child  be  an  apostle 


15    , 

of  righteousness  1  a  martyr  missionary  ?  a  preacher 
like  Whitfield,  whose  eloquence  and  zeal  shall  set 
a  continent  on  fire  ?  Shall  he  be  a  fashionable 
exquisite,  admiring  himself,  and  supposing  himself 
admired  by  others  1  Shall  he  be  a  political  in- 
triguer \  an  adroit  depredator  upon  society  \  Shall 
he  be  a  drunkard,  and  die  in  a  ditch  \  Shall  he 
be  a  thief?  a  murderer"?  a  pirate  \  Can  it  be  that 
he  who  sails  under  the  black  flag  of  death,  and 
whose  motto  is,  that  "  dead  men  tell  no  tales," 
once  drew  his  life  from  the  breast  of  a  human 
mother,  returned  her  caress,  and  answered  to  her 
smile  %  Who  is  this  upon  whom  every  eye  in  the 
vast  multitude  is  fixed  1  Over  his  face  the  fatal 
cap  is  drawn,  and  he  stands  upon  the  drop  just 
ready  to  fall.  It  is  but  a  few  years,  and  his  tiny 
hand  held  the  finger  of  his  mother,  and  in  him 
were  garnered  up  her  fond  hopes  and  high  expec- 
tations. 

At  this  point  the  import  of  the  question  is 
deepest,  because  the  dread  issues  involved  in  our 
immortality  are  here  at  stake.  Here  are  harnessed 
the  forces  that  are  to  move  on  the  plains  of  eter- 
nity. Every  thing  indicates  that  in  the  mind,  as 
well  as  in  the  body,  there  is  a  possibility  of  ruin  ; 
that  there  are  there  also  processes  that  are  cancer- 
ous and  leprous  ;  and  that  they  may  gradually  per- 
vade, and  at  length  utterly  pervert  and  corrupt  the 
whole  being.  Awful  and  significant  it  is,  to  see 
such  a  disease  spreading  itself  over  the  body,  taint- 
ing the  fluids  more  widely,  and  implicating  more 
tissues,  till  deformity  becomes  only  the  more  ob- 


16 

trusive,  and  hideous,  and  persistent,  as  the  forces 
of  nature  were  originally  greater  and  more  benefi- 
cent. And  so  it  may  be  in  mind.  Whatever  the 
fact  may  be,  no  one  can  doubt  the  fearful  capacity 
for  this.  It  belongs  to  our  conception  of  spiritual 
forces  that  they  are  indefinite,  or  without  limit  in 
their  capacities,  in  whatever  direction  they  may 
move.  It  is  the  natural  pledge  of  their  immortal- 
ity, that  whatever  point  they  may  reach  in  knowl- 
edge or  affection,  in  virtue  or  in  vice,  it  will  always 
be  possible  for  them  to  advance  still  further.  This 
point,  whatever  it  be,  must  be  reached  under  the 
law  of  habit,  and  under  that  still  more  general  law 
that  "  to  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,"  and  thus 
the  time  must  come  when  there  can  be  no  return. 
For  the  same  reason  that  the  path  of  the  just  shall 
be  as  the  shining  light,  that  shines  more  and  more, 
the  gloom  of  to-day  shall  become  the  darkness  of 
to-morrow,  and  the  deep  midnight  of  the  day  fol- 
lowing. Selfishness,  passion,  hate,  shall  gain  a 
permanent  ascendency,  and  the  reign  of  retribution 
begin.  The  immutability  of  law  is  the  rock  to 
which  the  sinner  shall  be  bound  ;  the  ceaseless 
action  of  the  spiritual  powers  is  the  immortal  liver 
that  shall  grow  as  it  is  consumed,  and  the  diseased 
action  is  the  vulture  that  shall  prey  upon  it.  The 
worm  shall  gnaw  till  it  shall  become  undying,  the 
fire  shall  burn  till  it  "  cannot  be  quenched."  This, 
not  crumbling  arches,  not  mouldering  cities,  but 
this,  this  is  ruin. 

What  a  contrast  between  this  and  the  possibili- 
ties we  see  before  us  and  in  us,  when  we  look  at 


17 

the  man  Christ  Jesus.  In  him,  in  him.  alone,  can 
we  form  a  right  estimate  of  our  nature ;  and  that 
he  has  enabled  us  to  do  this,  is  no  small  ground 
of  our  indebtedness  to  him.  So  far  as  he  was 
man  only,  there  was  in  him  no  excellence  or  per- 
fection which  we  may  not  attain  ;  and  the  perfec- 
tions in  him  were  not  only  an  example  to  us,  but 
were  a  pledge  to  his  followers  that  they  shall 
attain  the  same.  The  disciple  shall  be  as  his 
Master.  They  shall  be  like  him,  for  they  shall 
see  him  as  he  is.  Christ  was  the  Son  of  God  as 
Adam  was  not ;  and  in  him  humanity  was  glorified 
as  it  could  have  been  in  no  other  way.  There 
was  stamped  upon  it  the  seal  of  an  infinite  value. 
It  was  so  taken  into  union  with  God  as  to  show 
that  God  can  dwell  with  it,  and  that  the  highest 
divine  perfections  may  be  manifested  through  it. 
Christ  was  the  "  brightness  of  his  glory,"  as  mani- 
fested on  the  earth,  "  the  express  image  of  his 
person,"  and  whoever  would  see  the  capacities 
there  are  in  man  for  elevation  and  excellence  must 
look  to  him.  "  Looking  unto  Jesus,"  is  the  motto 
of  the  Christian.  He  is  the  only  type  of  normal 
development  for  the  race.  I  point  you  to  no 
heroes  or  sages,  but  to  Him ;  to  no  abstract  con- 
ception, but  to  embodied  excellence,  living,  walk- 
ing, speaking,  sympathizing,  suffering  among  men. 
The  divine  image,  marred  in  Adam,  was  restored 
in  Christ,  and  is  so  held  in  him  that  it  can  be  lost 
never  more.  The  gem  is  now  set  forever.  It  will 
belong  to  the  riches  of  eternity.  This  image  we 
may  attain.     Between  the  attainment  of  this   and 


18 

any  thing  else,  the  difference  is  infinite.  This  is 
the  true  good.  And  O  how  great,  how  infinite  is 
this  good  !  In  view  of  it,  how  forcible  the  ques- 
tion of  our  Saviour,  '  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if 
he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  soul  \ 
Or  what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his 
soul  % '  Fully  attained,  this  good  is  heaven.  What- 
ever outward  circumstances  may  be,  potentially, 
substantially,  ultimately,  this  is  heaven.  He  that 
is  like  God  shall  dwell  with  God.  The  son  shall 
be  in  his  father's  house.  He  shall  abide  forever. 
For  this  we  bless  thee,  O  our  Father.  Cease,  my 
friends,  your  disputes  about  religion.  He  that  is 
like  God  shall  dwell  with  God,  and  he  that  is  not 
like  God,  shall  not  dwell  with  him. 

We  thus  see  that  man  must  be  in  the  highest 
rank  of  created  beings,  and  how  it  is  that  his 
manifoldness  is  a  proof  of  his  greatness.  Touch- 
ing the  extremes  of  being,  he  is  capable  of  devel- 
opment on  the  level  of  any  nature  of  which  he  is 
partaker,  and  at  any  point  along  a  line  that 
reaches  from  the  instinct  of  the  animal  up  to  God 
himself.  He  may  become  an  animal,  or  simply 
human,  or  devilish,  or  divine.  .  Made  in  the  image 
of  God,  capable  of  indefinite  progress,  of  falling 
to  a  depth  profound  in  proportion  to  the  height  to 
which  he  can  rise,  no  wider  scope  could  be  given 
to  the  imagination  than  is  now  given,  when  the 
question  is  asked  concerning  any  child,  "  What 
manner  of  child  shall  this  be  1 " 

My  beloved  Friends  of  the  Graduating  Class, 
this  discussion  is   especially  for  you,  and  in  apply- 


19 

ing  its  principles,  I  address  myself  directly  to  you. 
You  are  no  longer  children,  but  men,  and  in  view 
of  the  wide  range  of  possibilities  now  presented 
before  you,  I  ask  you,  What  manner  of  men 
will  you  be?  I  come  to  you  individually,  and 
with  affectionate  earnestness  and  deep  solicitude, 
ask  each  one  of  you,  What  manner  of  man  will 
you  be  1 

The  question,  observe,  is  not,  What  will  you 
get  ?  but,  What  will  you  be  ?  The  first  is  the  par- 
amount question  with  selfishness  ;  the  second,  with 
reason  and  religion.  In  asking  the  first,  you  are 
not  necessarily  selfish  ;  in  making  it  paramount, 
you  are.  In  seeking,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be 
great,  good,  noble,  like  God,  you  are  indeed  con- 
sulting your  own  good  most  wisely,  but  are  not 
selfish,  for  how  can  a  man  be  selfish,  when  his 
very  object  is  to  be  benevolent.  How  be  selfish  in 
seeking  to  be  like  God,  for  God  is  love.  This 
question,  then,  I  ask  with  emphasis,  for  under  the 
government  of  God  your  all  must  depend  upon  it. 
And  not  only  do  I  ask  it,  this  College  that  has 
watched  over  you,  and  will  follow  you  with  an 
abiding  interest,  and  which  you  will  either  honor 
or  disgrace,  asks  it.  Your  parents  and  near 
friends,  to  whom  you  owe  every  thing,  ask  it. 
Your  country  asks  it.  The  church  of  God  asks  it. 
The  nations  that  are  in  ignorance,  and  under 
oppression,  ask  it.  And  I  doubt  not  there  is,  at 
this  solemn  moment  in  your  own  hearts,  a  "  still 
small  voice,"  in  which  God  is,  that  asks  it.  What 
manner  of  men  will  you  be  ? 

4 


20 

This  question,  as  put  to  you,  I  desire  to  limit  as 
I  have  not  done  in  the  general  discussion.  That 
was  in  view  of  two  kinds  of  diversity  that  must  be 
discriminated.  There  is  one  having  its  root  in 
repugnance  and  opposition,  involving  elements  that 
can  never  be  brought  into  harmony,  and  that  can 
have  no  unity  even,  except  as  there  is  fixed  between 
them  a  great  and  impassable  gulf.  For  this  gulf 
there  is  provision  in  the  essential  difference  of 
moral  good  and  evil ;  and  while  these  may  be  em- 
braced in  the  unity  of  one  government  of  eternal 
righteousness,  yet  this  can  be  only  on  the  condition 
that  that  gulf  shall  be  fixed. 

But  there  is  also  a  diversity  which  springs  from 
unity,  and  is  the  basis  of  harmony  ;  and  within 
this  limit  diversity  is  a  good.  Only  through  this 
can  we  have  the  riches  and  beauty,  as  well  as  the 
harmony  of  the  universe.  In  this  we  have  the 
one  light  refracted  into  its  seven  colors,  making 
the  earth  green,  and  the  sky  blue,  and  the  clouds 
gorgeous.  In  this  is  the  one  sound  now  parting 
itself  into  its  seven  notes  for  music,  now  articulat- 
ing itself  in  speech,  now  becoming  the  chirp  of 
the  cricket,  and  now  the  roar  of  the  thunder.  In 
this  is  the  one  water  seen  in  mist,  in  dew,  in 
steam,  in  ice,  in  snow,  in  the  green  heaving  ocean, 
and  in  the  rainbow  that  spans  it.  In  this  is  the 
one  body  with  its  organs,  the  one  tree  with  its 
branches,  the  one  universe  with  its  suns,  and 
planets,  and  satellites,  and  comets.  Within  this 
limit,  the  wider  the  diversity,  the  richer  are  the 
fields  opened  to  us  in  science,  in  beauty,  and  in 
character. 


21 

And  now,  when  I  put  this  question  to  you,  I 
would,  have  all  your  diversity  within  this  limit.  I 
wish  to  speak  with  you  of  no  other.  This  will 
involve  no  restriction,  no  monotony,  or  tameness, 
or  repression  of  any  manly  energy,  no  abatement 
of  the  zest  and  foam  and  sparkle  of  life.  It  will 
only  lift  you  above  obstructions,  and  enable  you 
to  move  calmly  and  freely,  as  the  balloon  that 
floats  in  the  long  upper  currents,  instead  of  being 
whirled  in  the  lower  tempests,  and  wrecked  among 
the  branches.  O,  could  I  but  know  that  all  your 
diversity  would  range  within  this  limit,  that  you 
would  all  be  Christians,  true  followers  of  the 
Lord  Jesus,  almost  would  I  say  to  you,  Be  what 
you  please.  Certainly  I  should  prefer,  since  one 
star  differs  from  another  star  in  glory,  that  you 
should  not  be  among  those  less  bright.  But  only 
be  a  star.  Shine,  and  choose  your  own  shade 
of  light.  Be  Paul,  or  Peter,  or  John,  or  James, 
or  even  Thomas ;  any  of  them  but  Judas.  Be  a 
Luther,  or  Melancthon  ;  be  Jonathan  Edwards,  or 
Harlan  Page ;  be — but  I  will  go  no  further ;  I 
will  rather  recall  what  I  have  said,  and  say  to  you, 
Be  yourselves.  Bring  out  your  own  individuality. 
It  is  your  own.  As  such,  respect  and  cherish  it, 
only  avoiding  all  affected  singularity.  You  will, 
I  think,  allow  that  that  individuality  has  been 
respected  hi  your  course  of  instruction  here ;  that 
the  object  has  been,  not  to  put  upon  you  the  ear- 
mark of  any  system,  but  to  bring  your  individuality 
out  under  the  inspiration  of  a  love  of  truth.  If 
it  be  different  from  that  of  others,  do  not  be  trou- 


22 


bled.  It  ought  to  be.  Bring  it  out  in  its  sim- 
plicity, any  where  within  the  broad  light  and 
expanse  of  the  one  perfect  example.  Christ  was 
peculiar,  but  not  singular,  except  as  Mont  Blanc 
and  the  Ocean  are  singular.  So  be  you,  and  you 
shall  polish  a  gem  for  its  setting  in  the  diadem 
of  Him  who  weareth  many  crowns,  that  shall  have 
in  it  shades  and  lines  that  no  other  can  have. 

And  while  I  thus  call  upon  you  to  bring  out 
your  own  individuality,  let  me  say  to  you  also, 
Respect  that  of  others  ;  and  not  only  so,  appre- 
ciate it,  and  rejoice  in  its  manifestation.  Nothing 
is  more  needed  among  men  than  the  power  and 
readiness  to  do  this,  and  to  accept,  in  religion,  in 
politics,  and  in  social  life,  those  diversities  of  belief 
and  of  forms  which  spring  from  this,  but  which 
yet  have  their  root  in  essential  unity,  and  no  more 
cease  to  be  of  it  than  men  of  different  colors  cease 
to  be  of  the  race.  To  do  this,  is  liberality,  in  dis- 
tinction from  laxness  and  indifference  to  the  truth. 
This  God  intended  should  be.  It  is  not  for  noth- 
ing, that  the  notes  of  birds,  and  the  colors  of 
flowers,  and  the  outlines  of  mountains  differ,  yet 
are  all  pleasing.  It  is  not  for  nothing,  that  we  are 
told  that  the  foundations  of  the  New  Jerusalem 
are  of  twelve  manner  of  precious  stones  ;  and  the 
jasper  is  not  better  than  the  sapphire,  nor  the  sap- 
phire than  the  emerald,  nor  the  emerald  than  the 
amethyst,  and  all  are  better  than  any  one  would  be, 
and  all  are  one  in  their  common  nature  as  gems, 
and  in  their  common  office  of  adorning  and  sup- 
porting the  heavenly  city.     How  to  draw  the  line 


23 

rightly,  in  particular  cases,  no  rules  can  be  given  ; 
but  you  see  the  general  principle,  and  I  beseech 
you  to  do  this  wisely  and  liberally,  remembering 
that  it  is  the  tendency  of  egotism  and  selfishness  to 
fall  into  clannishness,  and  into  a  party  and  secta- 
rian spirit,  and  to  magnify  non-essentials. 

In  the  light  of  what  has  been  said,  let  me  turn 
your  thoughts  to  the  provision  God  has  made  for 
the  growth  and  enjoyment  of  his  creatures  as  intel- 
ligent, and  aside  from  the  affections.  For  these  the 
great  conditions,  in  the  construction  of  his  works, 
are,  first,  unity.  By  this  is  not  meant  an  indivisible 
unit  of  which  there  may  be  any  member  without  >^<-^ 
either  unity  or  harmony,  and  which  must  remain 
unfruitful ;  but  a-  unity  like  those  spoken  of  above, 
capable  of  being  parted  into  diversity,  and  of 
returning  to  itself  again.  The  second  condition  is 
diversity — not  merely  numerical,  but  that  which  is 
implied  in  parts  having  relation  to  a  common 
whole.  The  third  condition  is  harmony,  that  is, 
such  a  relation  of  parts  to  each  other  and  to  the 
whole,  as  to  realize  and  complete  our  conception 
of  that  whole.  For  intellectual  growth  and  enjoy- 
ment, a  perception  of  these  is  all  that  is  needed ; 
and  how  inexhaustible  these  are,  and  how  wonder- 
fully blended  in  this  universe,  I  need  not  say.  In 
this  view  of  it,  the  universe  is  an  organ  that  con- 
stantly discourses  music  to  angels  and  to  God. 
The  relations  of  its  parts  at  a  given  moment,  in 
their  adjustment  to  each  other  and  to  ends,  are  its 
harmony,  and  the  succession  of  its  events  are  its 
melody.     Its  harmony  we  can  begin  to  study.     Of 


24 

the  melody  we  can  know  comparatively  nothing, 
for  out  time  is  too  brief;  but  we  may  be  sure  that 
both  will  forever  increase. 

In  view  of  what  has  been  said,  you  will  also  be 
able,  not  only  to  estimate  the  place  and  value  of 
diversity  in  the  universe,  but  also  of  what  has  been 
called  many-sidedness,  in  the  individual.  Plainly 
this  is  a  proof  of  greatness.  At  times  the  admira- 
tion for  this  has  been  overdone,  and  there  has  been 
about  it,  in  certain  quarters,  something  of  cant. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  those  who  say  that  a 
man  can  excel  in  but  one  thing,  and  should  attend 
to  but  one.  Doubtless  the  greatest  effect  requires 
concentration,  and  there  should  be  no  attempt  at 
varied  excellence  that  would  diminish  this  ;  but 
there  are  few  occupations  in  which  all  that  a  man 
can  do  may  not  be  done  with  less  than  his  whole 
energies ;  the  use  of  the  powers  in  different  direc- 
tions gives  diversion  and  strength,  and  there  seems 
no  good  reason  why  a  man  may  not  gain  excellence 
in  all  the  directions  in  which  he  is  capable  of 
development.  Why  may  not  a  man  cultivate  both 
muscle  and  mind,  both  mathematics  and  music, 
both  poetry  and  philosophy?  I  trust  you  will 
shrink  into  no  one  channel,  but  as  you  have  be- 
gun, so  you  will  continue  to  advance  in  a  liberal 
culture. 

Once  more,  if  the  rank  of  man  be  so  high  and 
his  capacities  so  great,  then  is  this  world  a  fit 
theatre  for  that  great  redemption  which  the  Scrip- 
tures reveal.  Between  him  and  that  redemption 
there  is  no  want  of  congruity  or  proportion.    Some 


25 

there  are  who  speak  of  this  world  as  a  mere  speck 
in  the  universe,  and  of  man  as  too  inconsiderable 
to  be  the  object  of  such  regard  as  is  implied  in  the 
coming  and  death,  for  him,  of  the  Son  of  God. 
But  so  far  as  is  possible  for  any  creature,  man 
takes  hold  on  infinity.  He  is  a  child  of  God,  and 
in  the  dealings  of  God  with  him  there  may  be 
involved  all  those  principles  of  wisdom  and  right- 
eousness and  mercy  which  can  be  involved  in  the 
divine  government  any  where,  and  so  the  whole 
universe,  mighty  as  it  is,  may  be  brought,  through 
man,  to  the  "  light  of  the.  knowledge  of  the  glory 
of  God."  Little  can  they  who  think  thus,  have 
meditated  upon  those  sublime  and  consoling  words 
of  the  Apostle,  "  Beloved,  now  are  we  the  sons  of 
God,  and  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be ; 
but  we  know  that,  when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall 
be  like  him  ;  for  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is."  This 
redemption,  O  let  us  magnify,  for  in  it  is  all  our 
hope.  This  redemption  I  commend  to  you  renew- 
edly,  earnestly,  affectionately,  in  this  solemn  and 
parting  hour. 

Finally,  my  beloved  friends,  if  there  is,  in  the 
capacities  of  man,  a  fit  occasion  and  ground  for  the 
redemption  revealed  in  the  Scriptures,  so  is  there 
in  his  diversities  a  fit  occasion  and  ground  for  that 
future  and  final  Judgment  which  they  also  reveal. 
How  could  these  diversities  be  greater'?  How  is 
every  thing  respecting  God  and  his  government, 
even  to  his  very  being,  denied,  questioned,  chal- 
lenged, ridiculed,  mocked  \  Taken  by  itself,  how 
tangled,  perplexed,  and  insoluble  by  reason,  is  the 


26 

present  state  X  What  shades  of  character !  What 
modifications  of  responsibility  !  What  wrongs  un- 
redressed !  What  questions  cut  short  by  death ! 
And  in  connection  with  these,  what  scope  for  the 
application,  in  every  delicate  adjustment,  of  every 
principle  of  moral  government!  Probably  in  no 
other  way  than  by  such  a  Judgment,  could  these 
diversities  be  reduced  to  the  comprehension  of 
finite  minds,  and  the  ways  of  God  to  man  be  vindi- 
cated. Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  reality  of  what  God 
does,  and  proposes  to  do,  transcends  all  that  man 
could  have  imagined  to  be  possible,  and  hence 
many  deny  this  also.  They  say,  "  Where  is  the 
promise  of  his  coming]"  "But  the  day  of  the 
Lord  will  come  as  a  thief  in  the  night."  "  The 
Son  of  man  shall  sit  on  the  throne  of  his  glory, 
and  before  him  shall  be  gathered  all  nations." 
This,  we  believe,  will  be  the  next  great  epoch  in 
this  world's  history.  And  in  view  of  it,  I  ask  the 
question  no  longer  in  regard  to  this  world,  What 
manner  of  men  will  you  be  ?  This  world  and  its 
scenes,  now  so  bright  before  you,  will  be  nothing 
then.  I  ask  this  question  in  view  of  that  day  when 
there  will  be  but  one  alternative.  What  manner 
of  men  will  you  then  be  ]  Will  you  be  among  the 
righteous  %  Will  you  be  on  the  right  hand  X  Will 
you  all  be  there  \  May  you  all  hear  the  music  of 
that  voice  which  shall  say,  "  Come,  ye  blessed  of 
my  Father,  inherit  the  Kingdom  prepared  for  you 
from  the  foundation  of  the  world." 


NOTHING     TO     BE     LOST 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,    MS 


JULY    29,     1860 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.D 

President  of  Williams  College. 


PUBLISHED    BY    REQUEST    OF    THE    CLASS. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &  SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 

1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


S  E  E  M  0  N  . 


JOHN  vi.  12. 

GATHER  UP  THE  FRAGMENTS  THAT  REMAIN,  THAT  NOTHING  BE  LOST. 

Among  the  more  striking  miracles  wrought  by 
our  Saviour,  was  that  of  feeding  five  thousand  men 
from  five  barley  loaves  and  two  small  fishes.  But, 
striking  as  it  was,  it  was  simply  a  reproduction,  in 
a  different  form,  of  the  great  miracle  of  nature  that 
is  constantly  going  on  around  us.  The  miracle 
was  not  at  all  in  the  things  made,  but  wholly  in 
the  manner  of  making  them.  Bread  had  been 
made  before,  and  as  good  bread ;  and  there  had 
been  fish  before ;  but  never  before  had  they  been 
formed  at  once,  by  the  energy  of  will,  from  their 
original  and  simple  elements.  In  both  cases  the 
elements  existed.  There  was  no  new  creation  ;  but 
in  the  miracle  they  were  brought  together  in  a 
manner  entirely  different. 

When  the  sower  sows  the  seed  in  which  is  the 
nucleus,  the  possibility,  and  the  promise  of  all  the 
bread  that  is  to  be  eaten  the  succeeding  year,  where 
are  the  materials  out  of  which  that  bread  is  to  be 
made  %  They  exist,  but  are  dispersed  hither  and 
thither,  and  are   held   in   different   affinities.     No 


human  eye  can  see,  and  no  skill  can  detect  them. 
They  are  like  an  army  in  ambush,  ready  to  come 
at  the  appointed  signal,  but  answering  only  to 
that. 

And  now  the  earth  receives  the  seed.  It  is 
buried,  but  not  forgotten.  Small  as  it  is,  the  ocean 
knows  of  it  and  offers  it  moisture  ;  and  the  atmos- 
phere knows  of  it,  and  is  ready  with  its  invisible 
fingers  to  lift  the  mist,  and  fashion  the  cloud-car, 
and  transport  the  moisture  to  it.  The  sun,  too, 
distant  as  it  is,  remembers  it,  and  sends  it  heat  and 
light.  These  provoke  its  hidden  life,  and  the  roots 
shoot  downwards,  and  the  stem  upwards.  But  in 
those  roots,  and  in  that  stem,  there  is  no  particle 
that  will  make  bread.  There  must  first  be  a  blos- 
som, and  then  a  receptacle  formed,  and  then  the 
stalk  of  grain  must  set  itself  at  work,  and  the  earth, 
and  the  air,  and  the  sun,  electricity  and  magnetism, 
agents,  visible  and  invisible,  must  give  their  aid  ; 
and  then  the  particles  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen,  and 
nitrogen  and  carbon,  will  come  from  their  hiding 
places  and  marshal  themselves  into  starch  and 
gluten,  and  the  full  seed  will  be  formed.  The 
yellow  harvest  shall  lift  itself  towards  heaven,  and 
wave  and  toss  itself  in  the  wind,  a  gift  from  all  the 
elements  and  agencies  of  nature  to  man.  So  do 
they  all  serve  him.  Then  comes  the  harvesting, 
and  threshing,  and  winnowing,  and  grinding,  and 
leavening ;  and  then  the  fire  does  its  work,  and  it 
is  bread.  Through  the  processes  of  a  year,  through 
changes  so  slow  and  minute  as  to  escape  observa- 
tion at  the  time,  by  the  combined  agencies  of  the 
earth,  and  air,  and  ocean,  of  the  sun  and  the  fire, 


the  materials  that  were  scattered  and  hidden,  have 
heard  the  call  that  was  made  for  them,  and  have 
come  forth ;  they  have  entered  into  their  new 
combinations,  and  have  become  the  "  bread  that 
strengtheneth  man's  heart." 

But  in  all  this  there  is  no  miracle.  There  is 
nothing  strange.  Oh,  no.  "We  have  seen  it  all, 
and  have  eaten  such  bread  all  our  lives.  It  is  na- 
ture that  does  all  this  ;  or  nature  and  art ;  though 
in  reality,  art,  human  art  and  skill,  can  do  nothing 
but  to  give  the  opportunity,  and  provide  the  condi- 
tions for  nature  to  work.  Nature  it  is,  and  there 
is  nothing  strange  about  it. 

But  now,  instead  of  this  complicated  and  mighty 
agency  extending  over  months  of  time,  and  reach- 
ing millions  of  miles  into  space,  implicating,  indeed, 
the  whole  planetary  system,  instead  of  sympathies 
and  interactions  between  materials  where  there  is 
no  direct  evidence  of  personality,  and  so,  of  any- 
thing above  what  we  call  nature,  there  comes  One 
who  claims  to  be  the  Lord  of  nature,  and  as  quietly 
as  the  sun  shines,  without  even  indicating  that  he  is 
working  a  miracle,  he  calls  for  the  elements  to 
come  from  their  hiding  places,  and  enter  into  their 
new  combinations,  and  they  obey.  The  materials 
were  all  around  him,  and  he  controlled  their  affini- 
ties at  once,  as  nature  controls  the  same  affinities 
in  her  long  processes.  The  simple  record  is,  that 
"  Jesus  took  the  loaves  ;  and  when  he  had  given 
thanks,  he  distributed  to  the  disciples,  and  the 
disciples  to  them  that  were  set  down  ;  and  likewise 
of  the  fishes  as  much  as  they  would."  There  was 
no  seeming  effort,  no  ostentation,  no  production  of 


anything  but  barley  bread,  just  such  bread  as  was 
made  by  the  people,  and  of  fish  such  as  were  caught 
in  their  waters.  But  this  was  a  miracle,  a  strange 
thing,  so  strange  that  many  cannot  believe  it.  But 
obviously,  if  we  had  been  accustomed  to  this,  and 
then  had  seen  the  other  for  the  first  time,  it  would 
have  been  accounted  by  far  the  greater  miracle. 

And  here  we  may  remark  what  a  testimony  the 
miracles  of  our  Saviour,  generally,  were  to  the  per- 
fection of  the  works  of  God  in  nature,  and  so  to 
his  own  oneness  with  God.  As  the  bread  which 
he  made  by  a  miracle  was  no  better  than  that  made 
by  the  ordinary  processes,  so  when  he  raised  men 
to  life,  it  was  to  the  same  life  that  they  had  before, 
and  that  other  men  have.  When  he  restored  a 
palsied  limb,  or  a  blind  eye,  it  only  became  as  it 
was  before,  or  like  other  limbs  and  eyes.  A 
miracle  could  make  them  no  better.  In  this  con- 
sists the  simplicity  and  grandeur  of  our  Saviour's 
miracles,  and  in  this  the  force  of  their  internal 
evidence  for  his  divine  mission.  He  honored 
nature,  while  he  showed  that  he  was  her  Lord. 

Thus  calling  the  materials  together  without 
effort,  the  Saviour  provided  for  the  wants  of  five 
thousand  men.  Nor  was  the  provision  scanty  ;  it 
was  ample  and  bountiful.  They  took  as  much  as 
they  would,  and  the  fragments  left  were  more  than 
the  original  loaves  and  fishes. 

And  what  the  Saviour  did  at  that  time,  he  was 
able  to  do  at  any  time.  To  his  power  in  this 
respect  there  was  no  restriction.  Always  he  could 
provide  for  himself  and  for  his  disciples  in  the  same 
free  and  magnificent  manner.     And  now,  when  he 


had  just  made  such  a  provision,  and  had  it  in  his 
power  to  do  so  at  any  time,  shall  he  care  for  the 
remnants,  the  fragments  that  remain'?  Not  so 
should  we  have  done.  But,  and  this  is  not  the 
least  remarkable  part  of  the  transaction,  the  Saviour 
did  thus  care.  "  When  they  were  filled,  he  said 
unto  his  disciples,  Gather  up  the  fragments  that 
remain,  that  nothing  be  lost."  The  same  thing  also 
he  did  on  another  occasion,  when  he  had  fed  a 
multitude  in  a  similar  manner. 

What  then  have  we  here  ?  Something  of  penu- 
riousness  and  smallness  ?  of  an  undue  desire  of 
saving?  That  can  hardly  be  in  Him  who  never 
owned  property,  and  who  had  just  dispensed  his 
bounties  so  freely.  Have  we  then  a  command 
appropriate  only  to  that  time  and  place  ?  or  have 
we,  as  in  so  many  other  instances  of  the  sayings  of 
our  Saviour,  clothed  in  a  particular  and  individual 
form,  a  universal  maxim,  a  great  principle  of  the 
government  of  God,  and  one  that  should  regulate 
the  conduct  of  men  ?  Are  these  words  as  the  index 
of  a  partial  and  local  force?  or  are  they  as  the 
magnetic  needle  that  indicates  the  polar  forces  of 
this  planet,  and,  so  far  as  we  may  conjecture,  of  all 
planets  and  systems?  Are  they  the  word  of  the 
individual  speaking  for  that  time  and  place,  or  of 
the  Lawgiver,  speaking  for  all  times  and  for  all 
places  ?  "  Gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain,  that 
nothing  be  lost."     Why  should  anything  be  lost  ? 

Anything  once  possessed  is  said  to  be  lost,  when 
it  is  so  concealed  or  removed  from  us  that  we  do 
not  know  where  it  is.  The  piece  of  silver  in  search 
of  which  the  woman  swept  the  house,  was  lost. 


The  sheep  which  had  wandered  away,  and  which 
the  owner  brought  back  rejoicing,  had  been  lost. 

Anything  is  also  said  to  be  lost,  when  it  fails  to 
accomplish  the  end  for  which  it  was  made  or  given. 
A  journey  is  lost,  when  the  end  for  which  it  was 
undertaken  is  not  accomplished.  A  day  is  lost, 
when  in  it,  no  good  is  done;  an  education  is  lost 
when  no  use  is  made  of  it ;  a  man  is  lost,  when  he 
becomes  hopelessly  a  drunkard,  or  is  given  over  to 
any  vice.  We  know  where  to  find  him,  but  he  is 
lost. 

That  a  thing  should  be  lost  in  the  first  sense  is 
accidental,  and  incident  to  us  from  the  limitation  of 
our  faculties.  Not  so  with  God.  To  the  Omnis- 
cient, nothing  can  be  hidden,  or  obscure,  or  re- 
mote ;  and  if  in  his  agency  he  shall  fail  to  cause 
any  past  event  to  be  brought  to  its  bearings,  or  any 
existing  thing  to  accomplish  its  end,  it  will  not  be 
because  he  does  not  know  what  it  is,  or  where  to 
find  it.  In  our  agency  a  thing  may  be,  and  often 
is  lost  in  the  second  sense,  because  it  is  in  the  first. 
We  fail  to  put  a  thing  to  its  use  because  we  do 
not  know  where  to  find  it. 

It  is  plainly  in  the  second  sense,  that  the  term 
"  lost "  was  used  by  our  Saviour  in  the  text.  It 
was  not  that  there  was  danger  of  concealment,  but 
of  waste.  It  is  in  this  sense  that  God  would  have 
nothing  lost. 

The  principle  involved  in  the  text  manifests 
itself  in  two  forms,  both  in  human  affairs  and  in 
the  divine  administration.  In  the  one  it  respects 
economy  of  force  when  any  thing  is  to  be  done ; 
and  in  the  other  the  waste  of  material  or  of  means 


9 

when  any  thing  is  possessed.  Let  us  look  at  the 
Divine  administration  with  reference  to  both  of 
these. 

And  first,  of  the  economy  of  force. 

If  we  consider  those  forces  that  operate  in  free 
space,  by  which  the  planets  and  planetary  systems 
are  moved  with  such  velocity,  and  guided  with  such 
precision,  we  have  no  means  of  measuring  any- 
thing except  by  the  results.  But  these  will  suffice 
for  us.  When  the  earth  comes  round  to  a  given 
star  at  the  appointed  and  predicted  moment,  we 
must  know  that  not  one  iota  of  the  force  that 
brought  it  there  could  have  been  spared.  It  is  just 
brought  there,  and  no  more.  When  gravitation 
draws  the  earth  to  the  sun,  it  is  by  a  force  that  just 
retains  it  in  its  orbit,  and  no  more  ;  and  the  oppo- 
site force  that  would  drive  it  into  lawlessness  and 
seclusion,  is  but  just  sufficient  to  prevent  it  from  fall- 
ing into  the  sun.  As  the  avalanche  is  suspended  by 
a  balance  of  forces  so  delicate  that  the  traveler  who 
walks  beneath  fears  even  to  whisper,  lest  it  should 
be  launched  upon  him,  so  hang  the  heavens.  The 
slightest  difference  of  adjustment,  the  least  diminu- 
tion of  force,  in  any  direction,  would  ultimately 
bring  the  system  rushing  together  to  the  centre,  or 
scatter  it  hopelessly. 

And  what  is  true  of  the  forces  that  act  at  such 
vast  distances,  is  equally  true  of  those  that  are 
acting  around  us,  and  at  distances  that  are  inappre- 
ciable. The  affinities  by  which  solid  bodies  and 
gases  are  held  together  are  so  balanced  that  a  less 
amount  in  any  direction  would  unchain  their  ele- 


10 

merits,  and  the  atmosphere  would  be  decomposed, 
and  the  earth  would  effervesce  and  boil  like  lime 
when  it  is  slacking. 

We  may  notice,  also,  not  only  a  balance  of 
forces,  implying  a  minimum  in  both  directions,  but 
also  the  different  and  apparently  opposite  offices 
which  the  same  agents  and  forces  subserve.  Under 
precisely  the  same  outward  conditions,  acted  upon 
by  the  same  outward  agents — the  same  atmosphere, 
and  storms,  and  sunshine — a  tree  that  is  growing 
shall  be  carried  up  to  its  perfection,  and  one  that  is 
decaying  shall  be  resolved  into  its  original  ele- 
ments. It  is  in  this  way  that  the  constant  circuit, 
and  interdependent  succession  of  life  and  death  is 
kept  up. 

But  perhaps  the  economy  of  force  is  best  illus- 
trated in  the  structure  of  animals,  where  there  is 
not,  in  the  same  way,  a  balance  of  forces,  but 
simply  mechanism.  Take  the  skeleton  of  any  ani- 
mal, and  let  the  problem  be  to  cause  it  to  perform 
the  same  variety  of  motions  that  the  animal  can 
perform,  and  with  the  same  rapidity,  and  the  forces 
can  be  applied  only  as  they  are  in  the  animal.  In 
every  animal,  regarding  its  structure,  and  its  posi- 
tion and  surroundings  relative  to  that,  in  the  bird 
that  flies,  the  fish  that  swims,  the  worm  that  crawls, 
the  insect  that  creeps,  in  the  four-footed  animal, 
and  in  man,  the  economy  of  force  is  absolutely 
perfect.  In  no  instance  has  any  mechanician  been 
able  to  show  how  this  economy  could  be  greater. 
On  the  contrary,  mechanicians  have  borrowed  many 
hints  from  the  structure  of  animals  for  the  economy 
of  force,  and  might  borrow  more ;  for  her  motors 


11 

are  all  perfect,  both  in  their  principle  and  in  the 
mode  of  its  application.  Guided  by  the  principle 
that  nature  does  nothing  in  vain,  Harvey  discov- 
ered the  circulation  of  the  blood  ;  and  guided  by 
the  principle  that  she  does  every  thing  in  the  sim- 
plest and  best  way,  the  mechanician,  if  he  will  but 
allow  for  the  difference  of  circumstances,  may 
safely  adopt  any  of  her  models  and  methods. 

But  on  this  point  there  is  no  need  of  detail. 
The  principle  contended  for  is  involved  in  one  of 
those  broad  inductions  of  Newton,  which  has  been 
universally  accepted  as  a  law  of  philosophizing. 
The  law  is,  "  That  no  more,  and  no  other  causes 
are  to  be  allowed,  than  are  sufficient  to  explain  the 
appearances." 

Having  thus  considered  the  economy  of  force, 
we  next  look  at  that  of  material  and  of  means. 
Between  these,  the  relation  is  intimate,  since  all 
material  used,  and  all  means  put  in  operation, 
require  force. 

As  an  illustration  of  economy  in  both,  as  thus 
related,  but  especially  of  material,  we  may  take 
the  stems  of  grasses  and  of  grain.  Contrive,  if  you 
can,  a  support  for  an  ear  of  wheat  that  shall  be 
adequate,  and  yet  have  in  it  less  of  material  than 
that  now  provided.  It  is  hollow  and  jointed,  be- 
cause, with  a  given  amount  of  material,  it  is  thus 
stronger.  The  same  principle  applies  to  the  bones 
of  animals,  and  to  the  quills  of  feathers.  How 
perfectly  discriminating,  how  illustrative  of  the  prin- 
ciple involved,  is  the  difference  here  between  a  stem 
of  wheat  and  the  trunk  of  a  tree !  As  intended 
but  for  a  season,  the  one,  though  adequate,  is  hoi- 


12 

low  and  fragile  ;  but  the  other,  as  solid,  has  not  too 
much  material  for  the  support  of  its  top,  and  to 
withstand  the  storms  ;  and  then  it  is  needed,  and 
was  intended,  as  a  supply  for  the  permanent  wants 
of  man.  The  provision  that  surrounds  the  germ  of 
a  seed  is  just  enough  to  support  the  young  plant 
till  it  can  strike  its  roots  into  the  earth,  and  no 
more.  The  same  is  true  of  that  about  the  vital 
point  in  an  egg.  The  quantity  of  the  atmosphere 
is  just  sufficient  for  the  density  needed  to  bear  up 
clouds  and  birds,  to  give  force  to  wTinds,  that  they 
may  waft  ships,  and  for  the  pressure  needed  upon 
animal  bodies.  The  amount  of  heat  and  of  light  are 
in  exact  accordance  with  the  demands  of  vitality 
and  of  vision.  Vast  as  it  is,  the  ocean  is  not  too 
large  for  the  evaporation  needed  to  supply  vegeta- 
tion, and  wells  and  springs  ;  and  certain  it  is  that 
the  earth,  as  a  whole,  is  not  a  particle  too  large  in 
its  relation  to  other  bodies  to  hold  its  place  firmly, 
and  exert  its  due  influence  amidst  the  perturba- 
tions and  actions  and  reactions  of  the  system. 

Another  form  of  this  economy  may  be  noticed  in 
the  use  of  the  same  structure  or  substance  to  sub- 
serve different  purposes,  and  those  independent  of 
each  other.  The  lungs  have  an  adequate  end  in 
the  oxygenation  of  the  blood,  a  function  wholly 
within  us,  and  so  vital  that  a  very  brief  suspension 
of  it  is  death.  They  might  seem  to  have  sole  refer- 
ence to  that.  But  see  these  same  lungs  in  their 
connection  with  the  voice,  circulating  fresh  thought 
and  sentiment  through  society,  a  function  wholly 
without  us,  and  not  less  vital  to  it  than  the  renova- 
tion of  the  blood  is  to  the   body.     The  one  sub- 


13 

stance,  oxygen,  is  a  main  constituent  of  water,  of 
the  atmosphere,  of  all  acids,  of  all  vegetable  pro- 
ducts, and  of  most  mineral  substances  and  rocks  as 
found  in  nature.  It  gives  its  heat  to  fire,  its  acidity 
to  vinegar,  and  to  potash  its  caustic  power.  It  is 
the  vital  element  of  the  atmosphere,  and  its  destruc- 
tive element.  Water  !  How  common  it  is,  yet  how 
manifold  in  its  uses !  It  becomes  ice,  and  so  a 
reservoir  of  cold  for  the  summer ;  it  becomes 
steam,  and  so  a  power  in  locomotion  and  in  manu- 
facturing ;  it  becomes  vapor,  and  so  fits  the  air  to 
be  breathed,  and  descends  in  dew ;  it  becomes 
clouds,  and  so  transports  the  rain  ;  it  becomes 
snow,  and  so  gives  the  earth  its  winter  robe.  It 
is  the  element  and  home  of  all  fish,  and  of  the 
monsters  of  the  deep ;  it  is  the  chief  constituent  of 
all  fluids  of  plants  and  of  animals  ;  it  quenches 
thirst ;  it  is  the  great  cleanser  and  purifier  ;  it  is 
an  element  of  beauty.  With  no  running  water, 
with  no  tossing  ocean,  with  no  cataracts,  no  dew, 
no  changing  clouds,  now  dark  and  seamed  with 
lightning,  now  fleecy  and  mottled  with  the  blue 
beyond,  and  now  gorgeous  in  the  sunset,  with  no 
showers,  and  no  rainbow,  where  would  the  beauty 
of  the  earth  be  \  And  all  this  from  the  one  sub- 
stance, water !  What  economy  of  material !  It 
would  seem  as  if  no  property  or  capacity  of  useful- 
ness in  this  substance  could  be  lost. 

The  same  principle  also  appears  in  the  results 
of  all  decomposition.  This  seems  a  destruction ; 
but  in  the  sense  of  annihilation  there  is  no  destruc- 
tion. In  this  sense  nothing  has  ever  been  lost. 
The    materials    merely    change    their    forms,    and 


14 

enter  into  new  combinations.  The  servants  retire, 
and  reappear  in  a  different  garb.  The  partners 
are  changed ;  and  so,  like  a  star  in  the  heavens, 
each  changing  particle  of  matter  walks  its  ap- 
pointed round.  Of  this  economy  in  connection 
with  apparent  destruction,  we  find  large  evidence 
in  geology.  There  have,  it  seems,  been  creations 
and  epochs  long  since  that  have  come  to  an  end ; 
but  when  they  did  so,  the  command  was  given  to 
the  earth,  "  Gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain, 
that  nothing  be  lost,"  and  the  earth  heard  and 
obeyed.  And  now  we  have  these  fragments  in  the 
form  of  soil  and  drift ;  in  granite  and  marble ;  in 
mines  and  coal-beds ;  in  foot-prints  and  fossils,  for 
the  profit  and  instruction  of  those  who  now  live ; 
and  probably  much  more,  of  those  who  shall  live 
hereafter. 

But  while  these  instances  are  sufficient  to  estab- 
lish the  principle,  there  are  objections  and  difficul- 
ties. There  is  apparent  waste.  Large  portions  of 
the  earth  are  mere  sandy  plains,  deserts,  or  inacces- 
sible mountains  ;  and  upon  these  the  sunshine  and 
rain  and  dews  descend.  There  is  also  an  apparent 
and  great  waste  of  the  germs  of  life. 

In  reply,  it  may  be  said  that  deserts  and  moun- 
tains are  of  use  physically.  "  Were  it  not,"  says 
Maury,  "  for  the  Great  Desert  of  Sahara,  and  other 
arid  plains  of  Africa,  the  western  shores  of  that 
continent,  within  the  trade-wind  region,  would  be 
almost,  if  not  altogether,  as  rainless  and  sterile  as 
the  desert  itself.  We  are  to  regard  the  sandy 
deserts,  and  arid  plains,  and  the  inland  basins  of 
the  earth,  as  compensations  in  the  great  system 


15 

of  atmospherical  circulation."  The  inaccessible 
and  snow-capped  mountains  condense  the  moisture 
and  form  water-sheds.  They  are  as  a  hand  lifted 
up  to  compress  the  distended  atmosphere,  and  to 
return  to  the  ocean  in  long,  and  fertilizing,  and 
navigable  rivers,  the  tribute  it  had  given. 

But  aside  from  this,  if  we  admit,  as  we  must, 
moral  considerations  and  reasons,  these  difficulties 
vanish  !  Those  deserts  are  not  too  large,  or  sterile, 
to  be  a  mirror  in  which  the  man  who  receives  the 
blessings  of  God  and  makes  no  return,  mav  see  his 
own  features  reflected.  Those  mountains  of  rock 
are  not  too  hard  and  unimpressible  to  represent 
that  adamant  that  can  resist  a  Saviour's  love. 
Those  germs  of  life  destroyed  are  not  too  many,  or 
too  precious,  to  show  what  is  possible  in  regard  to 
those  powers  and  capabilities  which  every  man  has, 
and  which  he  may  dwarf  and  ruin.  Without  a 
correspondence  between  external  nature  and  the 
character  of  man,  the  end  of  probation  here  could 
not  be  reached ;  and  without  these  and  similar 
features  and  facts  in  nature,  that  correspondence 
could  not  exist. 

To  many,  the  above  would  be  a  sufficient  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulties.  It  is  so  to  me.  But  the 
text  suggests  another.  It  implies  that  to  the  ac- 
complishment of  any  great  work,  fragments  may 
be  incidental,  nay,  that  they  may  be  required,  for 
the  completeness  of  the  work  itself.  There  are 
cases  in  which  a  provision  is  not  enough,  if  it  be 
not  more  than  enough.  So  it  was  here.  If  no 
fragments  had  remained,  it  would  not  have  been  in 
accordance  with  the  liberality  of  a  bountiful  pro- 


16 

vider,  and   something,   yea,   much,    of    the    moral 
effect  of  the  miracle  would  have  been  lost. 

Now  it  is  plain  that  there  is,  in  this  world,  a 
great  work  carried  on  through,  or  in  accordance 
with,  what  we  call  general  laws.  It  is  thus  that  the 
rain  and  the  sunshine  descend,  and  that  the  current 
of  life,  broad  and  deep,  is  kept  in  its  even  flow. 
To  this  the  earth  as  a  whole  and  the  elements 
minister.  In  this  great  work  it  could  not  be  ex- 
pected that  the  sun  should  withhold  his  beams  from 
every  barren  spot,  or  that  the  rain  should  skip  and 
shun  every  stone  and  sand-bank.  This  would  be 
petty,  not  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  general 
laws,  or  with  the  dignity  of  the  divine  government. 
The  great  work  is  done.  The  current  of  life  flows 
on,  and  no  more.  The  nations  are  fed ;  and  if 
there  are  outlying  facts,  the  bearing  of  which 
upon  the  result  we  do  not  see,  we  may  well  class 
them  with  fragments  that  remain,  which  will  be 
used  at  another  time,  or  are  used  in  other  con- 
nections. 

On  the  whole,  then,  we  conclude  that  the  economy 
of  God,  both  with  respect  to  force  and  to  material, 
is  perfect.  In  so  wide  a  reach,  where  we  con- 
fessedly know  so  little,  it  is  not  reasonable  that  a 
conclusion  so  borne  out  by  the  great  mass  and 
current  of  facts  should  be  held  in  abeyance  out  of 
respect  to  mere  exceptional  eddies.  Sustained, 
therefore,  by  the  science  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
we  venture  with  the  fullest  confidence,  in  regard  to 
every  particle  of  this  universe,  the  assertion  implied 
in  the  sublime  interrogatories  of  the  prophet : 
"  Who  hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of 


17 

his  hand,  and  meted  out  heaven  with  the  span,  and 
comprehended  the  dust  of  the  earth  in  a  measure, 
and  weighed  the  mountains  in  scales,  and  the  hills 
in  a  balance  1 " 

The  principle  of  economy  thus  regarded  in  the 
divine  administration,  ought  to  be  equally  regarded 
by  man  in  the  conduct  of  life.  It  ought  to  be  thus 
regarded,  but  is  not.  Not  only  is  there  indolence, 
and  so  dormancy  of  capacity,  but  there  is  great 
misdirection  of  force,  and  waste  of  material.  Who 
is  there  that  gathers  what  he  might  X  that  becomes 
what  he  might?  that  achieves  what  he  might? 
In  doing  each  and  all  of  these,  and  in  that  only, 
would  be  the  highest  success  ;  and  to  this,  economy 
is  no  less  necessary  than  energy.  The  monarch 
who  conquers  a  country  provides  for  retaining  it ; 
without  this  his  victories  would  be  fruitless,  and 
they  become  available  only  as  he  can  incorporate  it 
into  his  own  dominions,  and,  if  need  be,  make  it 
the  means  of  still  further  conquests.  So  it  is  with 
us.  The  two  elements  or  factors  of  success  in  life, 
mental  capacity  being  given,  are  the  energy,  the 
will,  needed  for  getting,  and  for  achievement ;  and 
the  economy  needed  for  so  keeping  what  is  thus 
gained,  that  nothing  shall  be  lost.  Of  these  ele- 
ments the  first  is  more  exciting,  more  naturally 
attractive  of  sympathy,  and  has  received,  by  far, 
greater  attention.  Young  men  are  constantly  ex- 
horted to  energy  and  enterprise,  to  perseverance 
and  force  of  will,  while  the  power  of  a  wise  economy 
and  husbandry  of  resources  is  disregarded. 

This  general  principle  needs  to  be  applied,  first, 


18 

in  regard  to  health  and  physical  energy.  In  the 
management  of  these  there  has  been,  and  still  is, 
unspeakable  loss.  Let  the  pressure  of  necessity  be 
removed,  and  men  have  not  sufficient  resolution 
and  self-control  to  comply  with  the  conditions  of 
physical  vigor.  Civilization,  the  accumulation  of 
wealth,  refinement,  leisure,  bring  facilities  for  va- 
rious forms  of  indulgence  incompatible  with  this 
vigor  in  its  highest  form  ;  and  so  uniform  is  this, 
that  no  nation,  highly  civilized,  has  escaped  physi- 
cal deterioration.  They  have  not  learned  the  secret 
of  gaining  in  refinement,  without  losing  in  a  robust 
manhood.  The  population  of  cities,  it  is  said, 
requires  to  be  renovated  by  men  fresh  from  the 
country  every  third  generation,  and  that  it  is  such 
men,  or  their  descendants  of  the  second  generation, 
who  hold  the  wrealth  and  places  of  influence  there. 
Of  course  there  are  exceptions,  but  this  is  the  gen- 
eral rule.  The  third  generation  are  inferior,  both 
physically  and  mentally.  They  are  second  or  third- 
rate  men.  Instead  of  being  judges  of  soils  and  of 
oxen,  they  are  judges  of  actors,  and  singers,  and 
neck-ties  ;  instead  of  being  leaders  in  a  town  meet- 
ing, they  are  leaders  of  fashion.  They  become 
dilettanti.  They  drink,  they  gamble,  they  give 
themselves  up  to  pleasure,  they  are  of  no  particular 
use  in  the  world,  and  not  seldom  either  they  or 
their  children  are  beggars  in  the  streets  where  their 
fathers  were  merchant  princes.  Meantime,  every- 
where, in  the  city  and  in  the  country,  in  the  count- 
ing house  and  in  the  college,  men  are  drawn  into 
"  the  old  way,"  or  rather,  ways  "  which  wicked 
men  have  trodden."    They  become  victims  of  licen- 


19 

tiousness,  or  of  some  form  of  artificial  stimulation ; 
and  with  various  alternations  of  hope  and  fear  on 
the  part  of  their  friends,  and  of  successful  struggle 
and  defeat,  they  become  a  curse  to  society,  and  go 
down  to  dishonored  graves.  The  promises  of  early 
life  are  not  met.  The  parental  hand  is  pierced  by 
the  reed  that  it  leans  upon.  Instead  of  fruit, 
awakened  hope  finds  ashes  in  her  grasp. 

Of  this  loss  something  is  due  to  ignorance,  but 
there  is  scarcely  any  one  whose  knowledge  is  not  in 
advance  of  his  practice  ;  and  where  that  is  the  case, 
the  root  of  the  evil,  and  generally  of  the  ignorance 
itself,  lies  deeper.  It  lies  in  the  insane  purpose 
to  secure  present  enjoyment,  regardless  of  conse- 
quences. From  this  no  mere  regard  to  self-culture, 
to  the  laws  of  health,  to  enjoyment  on  the  whole, 
will  hold  the  masses  back  when  solicitation  stands 
at  every  corner,  and  addresses  every  sense.  Re- 
straint will  be  spurned,  and  caution  mocked  at, 
and  a  pure  and  efficient  manhood  will  disappear. 
This,  a  pervasive  Christianity  can  prevent,  and 
nothing  else  can.  Nothing  but  the  cross  of  Christ 
can  so  startle  the  spiritual  nature  from  its  torpor,  as 
to  make  it  an  effectual  counterpoise  to  the  debasing 
and  sensual  tendencies  of  the  race.  Favored  by 
temperament  and  education,  individuals  may  meas- 
urably escape,  but  if  the  race  is  to  triumph  in  the 
conflict  between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit,  between 
the  lower  propensities  and  the  higher  nature,  they 
must,  as  Constantine  is  said  to  have  done,  see  the 
cross,  and  on  it  the  motto,  "  In  hoc  signo  vinces" 
By  this  sign  you  shall  conquer. 


20 

But,  secondly,  this  principle  is  peculiarly  appli- 
cable in  its  relation  to  time. 

There  is  a  low  philosophy  which  says  that  time 
is  money.  It  is  more ;  it  is  the  interval  between 
two  eternities  ;  it  is  life ;  it  is  opportunity ;  it  is 
salvation.  It  is  that  which,  once  past,  comes  not 
again.  It  fixes  the  past.  It  moulds  the  future. 
Money  cannot  buy  it.  A  dying  queen  may  exclaim, 
"  Millions  of  money  for  an  inch  of  time,"  but  the 
millions  will  not  buy  the  inch.  Money  has  no 
relation  to  it.  To  waste  it  costs  no  effort.  We 
have  only  to  wrap  our  talent  in  a  napkin  and  sit 
still ;  but  to  improve  it  requires  both  effort  and 
wisdom,  for  it  may  be,  and  most  often  is,  labori- 
ously wasted. 

"  Gather  up  the  fragments "  of  time,  "  that 
nothing  be  lost."  This  can  be  addressed  only  to 
those  who  are  employing  the  greater  portion  of 
their  time  in  some  earnest  work.  He  who  floats 
loosely  and  aimlessly  in  society  has  no  fragments 
of  time,  as  related  to  a  whole.  It  is  all  fragments. 
He  himself  is  a  fragment,  lying  useless,  and  his 
whole  life  requires  to  be  recast.  But  whatever  the 
great  business  of  a  man  may  be,  however  engross- 
ing, there  will  always  be  some  fragments  of  time 
that  will  remain  ;  and  with  most  men  these  are  so 
considerable,  that  the  disposition  made  of  them  will 
greatly  modify  the  results  of  life.  The  secret  of 
doing  much  is  to  do  a  little  at  a  time,  but  to  per- 
severe in  doing  it.  A  half  an  hour  a  day,  in  the 
service  of  an  earnest  purpose,  has  been  sufficient 
for  the  acquisition  of  languages  and  the  writing  of 


21 

books,  and  for  laying  the  foundation  of  a  lasting 
fame.  Even  the  minute  fragment  required  for 
drawing  his  waxed  ends,  was.  employed  by  Roger 
Sherman  in  looking  on  his  book  open  before  him  ; 
and  it  was  thus  that  he  became  a  sage,  and  a  signer 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Let  a  pro- 
fessional man,  or  any  man,  when  he  starts  in  life, 
have  a  side  study,  be  it  History,  or  a  Language,  or 
Poetry,  or  any  branch  of  Natural  History,  as  Geol- 
ogy, and  let  him  give  to  it  the  fragments  of  his 
time,  and  he  will  be  surprised  at  his  own  acquisi- 
tions ;  the  whole  tone  of  his  thoughts  and  life  will 
be  elevated,  and  the  change  of  subject  will  be  his 
best  recreation.  Of  such  a  pursuit  of  Mineralogy 
and  Geology,  we  have  a  striking  instance  in  this 
vicinity.  And  what  is  thus  true  in  literature  and 
science,  is  still  more  so  in  religion,  and  in  all  that 
relates  to  duty.  There  is  no  time  too  brief  for 
an  ejaculatory  prayer.  When  the  countenance  of 
Nehemiah  was  sad  for  the  desolations  of  Jerusa- 
lem, and  the  king  asked  him,  "  What  is  thy  re- 
quest % "  there  was  time  between  the  question  and 
the  answer  for  him  to  pray  "  to  the  God  of  heaven." 
If  the  object  of  this  world  had  been  to  furnish 
opportunities  for  doing  good,  it  could  hardly  have 
been  arranged  better  than  it  is ;  and  whoever  has  a 
heart  set  upon  that,  will  have  no  need  that  any 
fragments  of  time  he  may  gather  up,  should  be 
lost. 

But,  once  more,  you  will  expect  me  to  say  that 
this  principle  applies  also  to  property. 

Owing  to  the  undue  estimate  of  wealth,  this  has 
indeed  been   supposed   to   be  the  special  field  and 


22 

domain  of  economy,  and  there  are  those  who  make 
it  their  chief  business  to  practice  and  to  inculcate  a 
small  economy  in  this  department.  Certainly  the 
principle  applies  here  as  elsewhere.  Why  should 
any  property  be  lost  \  If  it  is  worth  the  getting, 
why  not  the  keeping  %  It  is  by  saving,  no  less 
than  by  getting,  that  accumulation  comes ;  and 
failure  in  this  is  oftener  from  a  want  of  economy 
than  of  enterprise.  Should  there  then  be  accu- 
mulation'? Certainly.  The  right  of  property  is 
given  by  God.  Property  itself,  that  is,  something 
accumulated  and  kept,  is  a  necessity  for  society. 
It  not  only  confers  comfort  and  independence, 
but  is  a  great  and  desirable  power  for  good.  It 
is  a  duty  to  give ;  we  are  commanded  to  give ; 
but  he  who  has  nothing  can  give  nothing.  This 
is  commonly  thought  a  sufficient  excuse.  It  may, 
or  may  not  be.  It  is  so,  just  as  it  is  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  begging,  that  a  man  has  nothing  to 
eat.  But  how  came  he  to  have  nothing  to  eat  \ 
How  came  the  man  to  have  nothing  to  give  1  If 
there  has  been  a  want,  either  of  industry,  or  of  the 
strictest  economy,  it  is  not  a  sufficient  excuse.  Of 
the  extent  of  this  accumulation,  with  its  tempta- 
tions and  dangers,  I  am  not  now  to  speak.  Of 
that  every  man  must  judge  for  himself.  But  be  it 
greater  or  less,  there  need  be  no  hesitation  in  say- 
ing that  any  loss  of  property,  any  want  of  economy 
in  spending  it,  any  failure  to  save  any  portion  of  it, 
must  be  the  result  either  of  human  imperfection  or 
of  sin. 

But  in  this  attention  to  minute  things,  this  regard 
to  fragments,  is  there  not  something  of  smallness 


23 

and  narrowness ;  of  a  carefulness  and  painstaking 
not  compatible  with  enjoyment  1  Is  there  not 
something  alien  from  the  tone  and  temper  of  a 
high  and  free  and  generous  spirit?  That  there  are 
such  associations,  in  connection  with  what  is  called 
economy,  cannot  be  denied.  But  we  must  here 
make  distinctions.  There  is  that,  if  we  call  it 
economy  at  all,  which  must  be  called  a  wicked 
economy.  It  is  that  of  the  miser.  He  saves  for 
the  sake  of  saving,  and  so  loses  by  his  very  keep- 
ing. The  fragments  were  to  be  gathered  up,  not 
that  they  should  be  carried  about  in  baskets  and 
kept  till  they  should  be  mouldy,  for  then  they 
would  have  been  lost  by  being  kept ;  but  that,  sub- 
sequently, and  on  the  first  fit  occasion,  they  should 
be  put  to  the  use  for  which  they  were  made. 

There  is,  also,  as  I  have  said,  a  small  economy — 
a  careful  parsimoniousness,  not  exactly  miserliness, 
but  bordering  upon  it.  It  is  born  of  fear,  has  refer- 
ence to  self,  and  does  not  contemplate  use,  except 
for  low  and  personal  ends. 

There  is,  again,  an  honorable  economy,  having 
for  its  end  the  gratification  of  the  natural  affec- 
tions, opportunities  for  mental  improvement,  posi- 
tion in  society,  and  all  these  in  connection  with  the 
highest  manhood  and  most  perfect  personal  inde- 
pendence. For  a  parent  to  be  economical,  to  the 
point  of  severe  self-denial,  for  the  education  of  a 
child ;  for  a  young  man  to  be  thus  economical  for 
his  own  education  ;  for  one  accustomed  or  seeking 
to  associate  with  the  wealthy  and  the  fashionable, 
to  conform  to  no  habit  of  expense  that  would 
require  dishonesty  or  meanness  in  any  direction, 


24 

implies    high    qualities  ;    and    the    economy   thus 
practiced  is  an  honorable  economy. 

But  besides  these,  there  is  what  may  be  called  a 
sublime  economy.  This  is  not  confined  to  money, 
or  property,  but  is  in  imitation  of  the  method  of 
God,  and  from  a  perception  of  its  connection  with 
beneficence.  It  includes  the  employment  and  ex- 
penditure of  whatever  would  bear  on  human  well- 
being,  and  its  principle  is,  "  That  nothing  be  lost." 
It  sees  that  the  water  must  be  gathered  in  clouds 
before  it  can  be  poured  out  in  rain  ;  that  the 
reservoir  must  be  filled  before  the  city  can  be  sup- 
plied ;  that  every  where  God  gathers  by  little  and 
little  what  he  dispenses  with  a  liberal  hand,  and 
thus,  instead  of  being  connected  with  smallness  or 
narrowness,  this  economy  becomes  the  very  spring 
and  fountain-head  of  generosity  and  liberality  and 
beneficence.  He  who  adopts  this  principle  looks 
around  him,  and  over  the  earth,  and  sees  hunger 
to  be  fed,  and  nakedness  to  be  clothed,  and  igno- 
rance to  be  instructed,  and  vice  to  be  reclaimed,  and 
talent  and  worth  to  be  encouraged,  and  institutions 
to  be  aided ;  he  hears  the  cry  of  heathen  nations 
calling  for  the  gospel ;  and  now  a  regard  for  the 
least  thing  that  can  work  towards  either,  or  all  of 
these  for  which  God  is  working,  is  dignified  and 
consecrated  by  the  principle  that  gave  it  birth. 
Now,  nothing  that  can  thus  work  is  small  to  him. 
Of  the  cold  water  that  he  is  bearing  to  the 
wounded  and  perishing  on  the  battle-field  of  life, 
and  which  he  knows  to  be  far  short  of  their  neces- 
sities, he  would  not  lose  a  drop.  Now  he  works 
for  God,  and  with  God  ;  and  he  finds  enlargement 


25 

both  of  mind  and  of  heart  just  in  proportion  as  he 
is  able  to  comprehend  in  his  working  plans,  as 
God  does  in  his,  every  instrumentality  and  means, 
however  apparently  insignificant  and  minute. 

In  these  parting  words  of  instruction  to  you,  My 
Beloved  Friends  of  the  Graduating  Class,  with 
whom  I  have  been  so  long  and  so  pleasantly  asso- 
ciated, it  has  been  my  wish  to  place  before  you  one 
great  element  of  all  success,  whether  it  be  of  that 
outward  but  delusive  success,  that  belongs  only  to 
time,  or  of  that  inward  and  true  success,  that  lays 
up  its  treasures  in  heaven.  In  connection  with 
both,  the  principle  applies,  that  nothing  should  be 
lost.  This  element  of  success  is  not  the  primitive, 
or  the  greatest.  I  have  no  wish  to  magnify  it  at 
the  expense  of  the  power  of  attainment  and  acqui- 
sition, but  call  your  attention  to  it  as  equally  indis- 
pensable with  that,  and  because  its  character  is 
often  misapprehended,  and  its  value  not  appre- 
ciated. 

Between  the  two  elements  of  success  just  men- 
tioned, as  between  the  great  forces  of  nature,  there 
is  a  tendency  to  opposition,  and  you  will  need  to 
balance  them  carefully,  if  you  would  preserve  the 
true  course  and  orbit  of  life.  With  some,  the  con- 
stitutional tendency  is  towards  energy,  attainment, 
acquisition  ;  and  as  the  consciousness  of  power  in 
this  direction  is  greater,  it  is  natural  there  should 
be  a  certain  profusion  and  recklessness  in  expend- 
iture. To  the  young  and  self-confident,  their  re- 
sources of   time,  of   health,  of  energy,  if   not  of 


26 

money,  seem  exhaustless  ;  and  why  should  they 
care  for  loss  1  With  others,  the  tendency  is  towards 
caution.  They  gain  by  saving.  They  never  either 
pay,  or  give,  too  much  for  any  thing.  They  are  in 
danger  of  withholding  more  than  is  meet,  even 
when  it  tendeth  to  poverty.  Of  these  elements,  if 
there  must  be  a  preponderance  of  either,  let  it  be 
of  the  first.  But,  rightly  viewed,  these  are  not 
conflicting,  but  complementary  elements.  If  there 
were  no  gathering,  there  could  be  neither  saving 
nor  giving ;  if  there  were  no  saving,  there  could 
be  no  systematic,  far-sighted,  effective  use  or  distri- 
bution. Here,  as  everywhere,  the  example  of  our 
Saviour  is  perfect.  How  grand  the  energy  by 
which  he  controlled  the  elements  !  How  adequate, 
and  more  than  adequate,  the  provision  for  all  that 
use  required  !  And  yet  how  perfect  the  economy 
— an  economy,  you  will  be  careful  to  observe,  that 
in  no  degree  restricted  use,  but  simply  provided 
against  loss.  Here  we  have  the  whole  princi- 
ple. Everything  for  use,  nothing  to  be  lost.  Why 
should  any  thing,  that  can  be  used,  be  lost  \  How 
can  it  be,  but  from  recklessness,  or  weakness,  or 
wickedness  X 

You,  my  Beloved  Friends,  have  rich  endowments, 
a  rich  inheritance,  a  capital  of  priceless  worth,  no 
part  of  which  ought  to  be  lost.  You  have  youth, 
and  health,  and  education,  and  freedom,  personal, 
civil,  and  religious.  You  inherit  the  past,  and 
stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  future  that  must  be 
richer  in  thronging  events  and  in  opportunities  for 
good,  than  any  past  has  been.     Your  fathers  inner- 


27 

ited  a  continent  that  required  to  be  subdued.  You, 
one  that  requires  to  be  cultivated  ;  they  inherited 
the  printing  press  worked  by  hand,  and  the  stage 
coach,  and  the  sailing  vessel ;  you  inherit  the  cylin- 
der press  worked  by  steam,  and  the  railroad  car, 
and  the  steamship,  and  the  electric  telegraph.  It 
was  for  them  to  lift  up  their  eyes  upon  the  varied 
forms  of  destitution  and  crime  in  our  land,  and 
upon  the  darkness  and  woes  of  heathendom,  and  to 
form  the  associations,  and  gain  the  knowledge 
necessary  for  effective  working.  It  is  for  you  to 
take  these  instrumentalities  and  work  them.  Work 
them  with  accelerated  speed,  and  with  mightier 
power.  Meliorate  the  physical  condition  of  man. 
Bring  back  a  revolted  world  to  its  allegiance  to 
God.  And  when  you  look  at  the  magnitude  of 
this  work,  is  there  anything,  whether  of  time,  or 
health,  or  money,  or  influence,  or  of  capability  in 
any  direction,  which  you  can  afford  to  lose?  No. 
Oh,  no.  In  such  a  work  every  resource  is  needed ; 
"  Hold  fast  what  thou  hast ;  "  for  such  a  work, 
"  Gather  up  the  fragments,  that  nothing  be  lost." 

But,  my  friends,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God  that  you 
should  lose  nothing  of  time,  or  health,  or  even  of 
money,  how  much  more  must  it  be  his  will  that 
you  should  not  lose  yourselves.  This  you  can  do. 
You  can  lose  yourselves  ;  and  such  a  loss,  you  will 
observe,  implies  not  merely  deprivation,  but  all 
there  is  of  suffering  and  of  penalty  under  the  moral 
laws  of  God.  As  the  loss  of  health  is  sickness, 
and  of  light,  darkness,  so  is  the  loss  of  hope, 
despair,  and  the  loss  of  heaven  is  hell.     You  can 


28 

throw  yourselves  away.  You  can  become  of  no 
use  in  this  universe  except  for  a  warning.  You 
can  lose  your  souls.  Oh,  what  a  loss  is  that !  The 
perversion  and  degradation  of  every  high  and 
immortal  power  for  an  eternity  !  And  shall  this  be 
true  of  any  one  of  you  I  Will  you  be  lost  when 
One  has  come  from  heaven,  traveling  in  the  great- 
ness of  his  strength,  and  with  garments  dyed  in 
blood,  on  purpose  to  guide  you  home — home  to  a 
Father's  house — to  an  eternal  home  1  Will  you 
not  rather,  on  this  day  of  interest,  it  may  be  of 
final  decision,  when  all  the  world,  and  all  choices 
are  open  before  you,  hear  his  voice  saying,  "  Fol- 
low me."  "  For  what  shall  it  profit  a  man,  if 
he  shall  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own 
soul  I  " 


THE   LIVING   HOUSE, 

O  K 

GOD'S   METHOD   OF    SOCIAL    UNITY. 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,   MS 


AUGUST    3,  1862. 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,   D.   D 

President  of  "Williams  College. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &  SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1862. 


SERMON. 


1  PETER  ii.  4,  5. 

TO  WHOM  COMING,  AS  UNTO  A  LIVING  STONE,  DISALLOWED  INDEED  OF  MEN,  BUT 
CHOSEN  OF  GOD,  AND  PRECIOUS,  YE  ALSO,  AS  LIVELY  STONES,  ARE  BUILT  UP 
A  SPIRITUAL  HOUSE. 

In  building  a  house,  materials  of  great  diversity 
are  brought  into  unity.  They  are  placed  in  such 
relations  as  to  be  mutually  subservient,  and  become 
one  thing.  This  is  what  is  done  in  all  construc- 
tion. It  is  what  God  has  done  in  building  this 
material  universe.  The  process  of  this,  as  con- 
ducted by  him,  is  expressly  compared  to  the  build- 
ing of  a  house  by  man.  "  For,"  says  the  Apostle, 
"  every  house  is  builded  by  some  man,  but  he  that 
built  all  things  is  God." 

As  thus  constructed,  the  universe  is  no  multi- 
tudinous mass  of  unrelated  units  baffling'  all  com- 
prehension.  The  separate  beings  and  facts  are, 
indeed,  without  number,  and  are  infinitely  diver- 
sified ;  but  they  may  yet  be  partitioned  off  into 
divisions,  assorted  into  groups,  the  ligament  which 
binds  each  of  these  into  unity  may  be  distinctly 
traced,  and  each  group,  thus  assorted  and  bound 
together,  becomes  the  field  of  a  separate  science. 
And   not   only  are   the  facts    within    each   group 


\ 


related  to  each  other,  but  the  groups  themselves. 
Not,  as  the  ancients  supposed,  are  the  heavens, 
and  the  earth,  and  the  regions  beneath,  constituted 
and  governed,  each  on  different  principles.  The 
light  from  the  farthest  star  is  the  same  as  that 
which  comes  from  the  sun,  and  which  is  struck 
from  the  flint ;  the  particle  of  dust  that  floats  in 
the  air  is  governed  by  the  same  laws  as  the  earth 
that  floats  in  space  and  is  enveloped  by  that  air  ; 
the  spire  of  grass  at  our  feet  requires  not  only  the 
sun  and  the  rain,  but  all  those  laws  of  electricity, 
and  magnetism,  and  cohesion,  and  affinity,  by 
which  the  globe  itself,  and  the  solar  system,  and 
the  far  vaster  stellar  systems  cohere  and  stand  up 
together.  Not  only,  therefore,  is  there  a  unity  of 
each  science,  but  a  unity  of  the  sciences.  The 
farther  we  investigate  the  more  do  we  find  of  unity 
in  the  works  of  God,  and  nothing  seems  left  to 
science  but  to  accept  that  instinctive  and  universal 
conviction  which  has  recorded  itself  in  language, 
and  which  calls  these  works  of  God,  so  varied  and 
so  vast,  a  uni— verse. 

With  this  constitution  of  the  external  universe, 
that  of  the  mind  is  in  harmony.  It  is  a  necessity 
for  it  to  seek  to  reduce  its  knowledge  to  unity. 
Before  science  can  begin,  we  must  observe  separate 
facts ;  but  as  soon  as  these  are  observed,  there  is 
an  effort  to  bring  them  into  system,  that  is,  into 
unity ;  and  when  this  is  fully  done,  there  is  a  com- 
pleted science.  No  man  can  observe  a  new  and 
strange  fact,  without  seeking  to  bring  it  into  rela- 
tion with  facts  already  known  and  classified. 


But  it  is  not  solely  as  speculative  that  man 
desires,  and  is  required,  to  reduce  all  things  to 
unity.  As  a  practical  being,  it  is  his  great  busi- 
ness to  do  this.  As  the  beings  and  facts  of  nature 
are  given  to  him,  as  speculative,  that  he  may  find 
their  mutual  relations,  and  thus  their  unity,  so  are 
the  substances  of  nature  given  to  him,  as  a  prac- 
tical being,  that  he  may  find  their  capabilities,  and 
bring  them  into  such  relations  of  convergence  and 
unity  as  shall  subserve  his  purposes.  Like  the 
facts  and  phenomena,  these  substances  are  given 
separately.  The  air  is  given  by  itself,  and  the  iron, 
and  the  fuel,  and  the  fire,  and  the  water,  and  all 
these  are  to  be  brought  into  such  convergence 
and  unity  of  action  as  to  cause  the  locomotive 
and  the  steam-ship  to  be,  and  to  speed  them  on 
their  wondrous  way.  In  all  contrivances,  from 
the  simple  lever  to  those  marvelous  combinations 
of  machinery  that  seem  endowed  not  only  with 
hands,  but  with  thought,  there  is  always  to  be 
found  a  unity  in  the  subservience  of  every  part 
to  the  purpose  of  the  designer,  and  it  is  this  unity 
which  he  designs  to  produce.  As  a  creature  made 
in  the  image  of  God,  man  not  only  finds  in  his 
works  unity  with  reference  to  an  end,  but  he 
wishes  to  produce  such  unity. 

But  this  is  not  all.  If  we  pass  from  matter 
to  mind  we  find  another,  a  spiritual  universe,  to 
which  the  first  is  subservient.  We  can  scarcely 
avoid  the  conclusion,  favored  as  it  is  by  the  Scrip- 
tures and  by  all  analogy,  that  there  is  a  spiritual 
universe  corresponding  in  vastness  and  variety  to 


the  material  one  ;  and  if  so,  the  great  object  of 
God,  in  the  whole,  must  be  such  an  arrangement 
and  government  of  this  as  shall  secure  for  it  the 
highest  social  and  spiritual  unity.  This,  too,  is 
favored  by  the  Scriptures.  Christians  are  to  be 
built  up  a  spiritual  house.  Christ  prayed  that 
they  might  all  be  one  ;  and  the  Apostle,  glancing, 
it  would  seem,  at  that  wider  range  of  which  we 
have  spoken,  says  :  "  That  in  the  dispensation  of 
the  fullness  of  times  he  might  gather  together  in 
one  all  things  in  Christ,  both  which  are  in  heaven, 
and  which  are  on  earth ;  even  in  him." 

And  here,  also,  in  this  spiritual  universe,  man 
is  not  merely  to  find  a  unity  produced  by  God  ; 
he  is  also,  and  in  this  chiefly,  to  seek  to  produce 
unity. 

In  doing  this,  the  first  sphere  of  action  for  every 
man  is  his  own  spirit.  Blessed  is  he  who  can 
bring  into  that,  that  unity  which  is  at  once  peace 
and  power.  This  is  the  first  condition  of  all  true 
rest,  and  of  all  healthful  activity.  The  more  com- 
plex man  is  ;  the  more  incompatible  are  his  desires  ; 
the  more  deeply  opposed  are  the  flesh  and  the 
spirit;  the  more  needful,  and  the  more  beautiful 
is  that  unity  which  belongs  to  the  original  design 
of  God,  and  which  is  brought  in  by  one  overmas- 
tering purpose  subordinating  all  things  to  itself. 
In  this  is  singleness  of  eye  ;  in  this  consistency, 
efficiency,  a  ground  for  self-respect,  and  for  the 
respect  of  others. 

But  this  unity  of  the  individual  spirit  is  not 
only  a  condition  of  individual  peace  and  joy,  but 


also  of  those  bonds  of  peace  by  which  individuals 
are  united  to  each  other.  This  brings  us  to  a 
wider  and  more  complex  field,  to  that  social  and 
spiritual  unity  which  we  now  propose  to  consider. 

In  this  field  the  first  and  most  perfect  unity  is 
to  be  found  in  the  marriage  union.  In  marriage, 
according  to  its  original  idea,  there  is  the  most 
perfect  social  unity  known  on  earth.  They  twain 
become  one  flesh.  It  is  based  on  a  diversity  in 
the  whole  being, — a  diversity,  not  of  opposition, 
but  of  correspondence,  by  which  each  supplements 
the  other,  and  in  which  there  is  always  the  basis 
for  the  truest  and  deepest  unity. 

It  is  from  such  a  unity  that  society  springs, 
branching  out  into  families,  communities,  and 
nations.  Here,  again,  unity  is  needed  not  only 
within  each  family,  community  and  nation,  but 
also  between  families,  communities  and  nations. 
This  is  possible.  Despite  the  isolations,  the  alien- 
ations, the  enmities  there  are,  it  is  the  law,  it  is 
the  only  condition  of  social  good,  and  it  is  the 
production  of  this  that  is  the  end  of  all  constitu- 
tions, and  legislation,  and  government.  A  solution 
of  all  social  problems,  those  which  have  taxed  the 
powers  of  man  from  the  beginning,  can  end  in 
nothing  better  than  this.  That  the  race  of  man 
should  recognize  its  own  unity  in  a  spirit  of 
brotherhood,  overlooking  no  one  having  the  attri- 
butes of  man,  and  thus,  under  the  government  of 
God,  become  fitted  for  a  unity  with  other  races, 
trained  in  other  planets,  in  other  systems,  related 
to  us  by  the  correspondence  of  diversity,  they  fitted 


8 


to  supplement  us,  as  we  them,  gives  us  the  grand- 
est conception  of  a  social  system  which  it  is  possi- 
ble for  us  to  form.  It  is  towards  this  that  all  true 
reformers  look  ;  as  they  approximate  this,  their 
end  is  attained  ;  as  they  find  the  principle  of  this, 
they  find  the  principle  of  all  real  reforms. 

It  is  of  this  complex  social  unity  that  the  text 
speaks  under  the  figure  of  a  house  built  up  of 
separate  stones.  "  Ye  are  built  up  a  spiritual 
house."  And  this  unity  men  have  sought,  and 
still  seek  to  secure,  chiefly  in  two  ways. 

The  first  is  by  the  balance  of  mutual  interests 
and  selfishnesses. 

Interest  and  selfishness  are  not,  like  malignity, 
necessarily  repellent.  So  far  as  two  selfish  persons 
are  either  necessary  to  each  other  from  the  condi- 
tions of  their  being,  or  can  make  use  of  each  other, 
they  can  go  on  together  ;  and,  by  a  skillful  adjust- 
ment of  checks  and  balances,  much  may  be  done 
to  make  it  for  the  immediate  interest  of  all  to  go 
on  thus.  Selfishness  may  do  good  to  others,  that 
others  may  do  good  to  it ;  it  may  lend  to  others, 
"  hoping  to  receive  as  much  again."  It  may,  for 
its  own  sake,  do  much  for  the  upbuilding  and  per- 
fection of  society  ;  and  with  this  as  its  controlling 
principle,  together  with  the  gregariousness  com- 
mon to  man  with  the  animals,  society  may  exist 
and  have  a  degree  of  unity.  But  with  a  governing 
selfishness,  held  in  check,  and  known  to  be,  solely 
by  expediency,  there  must  be  constant  distrust. 
Thus  governed,  men  will  overstep  the  limits  of 
right  when  they  dare,  and  the  individuals  of  society 


will  resolve  themselves  into  an  armed  neutrality, 
with  a  constant  outlook  for  opportunities  of  safe 
aggression.  Outward  peace  there  may  be,  but  it 
will  be  from  mutual  dread,  as  when  two  prize- 
fighters survey  each  other,  and  each  prefers  to 
decline  the  contest.  It  will  be  on  the  principle 
that  a  certain  gun,  supposed  to  be  very  destructive, 
was  named  "  the  peacemaker."  There  will  be 
sought  a  balance  of  power  like  that  so  long  made 
the  object  of  European  politicians.  Such  a  polit- 
ical balance  required  for  its  maintenance  standing 
armies,  and  navies,  and  fortifications,  and  constant 
watchfulness.  And  such  a  balance  in  society  will 
require  the  division  of  powers,  and  a  police,  and 
courts,  and  prisons,  and  written  contracts,  and 
securities.  Such  a  unity  may  be  better  than  none. 
It  is  far  better  ;  but  there  must  be  something  bet- 
ter than  this. 

A  second  mode  of  producing  unity  among  men 
is  by  power,  or  pressure  from  without. 

This  involves  the  first,  to  some  extent,  and  is 
superinduced  upon  it.  It  is  the  method  adopted 
by  all  despotisms,  whether  of  one  man,  of  a  few,  or 
of  many.  The  great  object  of  ambition  has  been 
to  exercise  the  power  of  a  despotic  will  over  masses 
of  men  organized  as  armies,  and-  through  these  to 
hold  in  subjection,  as  one  empire,  vast  regions, 
peopled,  it  may  be,  by  nations  the  most  discordant. 
Such  was  the  empire  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  who  sent 
forth  his  decree  '  to  every  people,  and  nation,  and 
language.'  Such  was  the  Persian  empire  under 
Ahasuerus,  whose  letters  were  sent  '  to  the  rulers 


10 


of  the  provinces  which  were  from  India  to  Ethi- 
opia, a  hundred  and  twenty  and  seven  provinces, 
nnto  every  province  according  to  the  writing  there- 
of, and  unto  every  people  after  their  language.' 
Such  was  the  empire  of  Alexander,  that  fell  in 
pieces  by  its  own  weight,  as  soon  as  his  strong 
grasp  upon  it  was  relaxed.  Such,  emphatically, 
was  the  Roman  empire.  Extending  from  the  Afri- 
can deserts  to  Britain,  and  from  India  to  the  pil- 
lars of  Hercules,  it  held  in  a  forced  unity  nations 
utterly  diverse  in  language,  and  habits,  and  inter- 
ests. It  was  a  mere  aggregation,  a  conglomerate, 
whose  parts  were  held  in  position  by  Roman  legions. 
Such,  indeed,  were  the  republics  of  antiquity,  when 
they  became  extensive.  Of  the  rights  of  man  as 
such,  they  knew  nothing  ;  they  did  not  extend  citi- 
zenship with  their  conquests,  but  held  their  prov- 
inces in  subjection,  and  so  preserved  unity  by 
power.  Such  has  been,  and  still  is,  to  a  great 
extent,  the  condition  of  Europe  ;  much  more  of 
countries  less  enlightened.  Different  nationalities 
are  forced  together.  Every  where  there  is  the 
pressure  of  power  as  an  external  force.  The  free 
play  of  affinities,  whether  laterally,  or  vertically, 
is  checked  ;  and  the  spirit,  if  not  the  laws  of  caste, 
is  rigidly  maintained.  Hence  the  unity,  such  as 
there  is,  being  enforced,  is  unquiet ;  not  peaceful, 
spontaneous  and  fruitful. 

In  opposition  to  these  methods,  now  tried  so 
long  that  the  world  is  weary,  is  that  adopted  by 
God,  and  beautifully  indicated  in  the  text.  The 
figure  in  this  passage  is  remarkable,  as  bringing 


11 


into  coalescence  objects  and  qualities  seemingly 
the  most  incompatible.  A  stone  is  passive.  You 
may  lift  it,  toss  it,  hurl  it,  smite  it,  lay  it  in  a  wall, 
and  it  will  resist  only  in  virtue  of  its  inertia  and 
cohesion.  A  stone  is  dead — so  dead,  that  when 
we  would  speak  of  the  perfection  and  intensity  of 
death  in  other  things,  we  say  of  them  that  they  are 
stone-dead.  A  stone  is  solid,  permanent,  a  fit  ma- 
terial to  enter  into  structures  that  are  to  endure  for 
ages.  How  opposite  is  all  this  to  that  vitality,  and 
sensibility,  and  self-assertion,  and  transient  charac- 
ter that  belong  to  all  organic  and  living  things ! 
How  opposite,  especially,  is  it  to  spirituality. 
Nothing  could  be  more  opposite,  and  yet  it  is  pre- 
cisely in  the  blending  of  these  opposites  that  the 
power  and  beauty  of  the  figure  are  found.  That 
the  building  should  be  of  stone,  was  required  to 
indicate  its  perpetuity  ;  for  its  turrets  are  to  gleam 
forever  in  the  light  of  eternity.  That  the  stones 
should  be  living,  was  required  to  indicate  their 
union,  each  in  its  place ;  not  by  mechanical  means, 
or  outward  pressure,  but  by  vital  affinity. 

Here  it  is  that  we  reach  the  peculiarity  of  this 
structure.  It  is  that  the  materials  are  living,  and 
are  united  by  a  vital  affinity.  If  now  we  suppose 
this  affinity  to  spring  from  that  which  is  deepest 
and  most  essential  in  the  materials,  we  shall  have 
the  whole  method  of  God  in  producing  social 
unity ;  we  shall  have  that  which  we  must  adopt  in 
seeking  to  produce  it,  if  we  are  ever  to  succeed. 

Of  this  method  of  union  by  vital  affinity,  there 
are  two   conditions.     The  first  and  indispensable 
2 


12 


one  is,  that  the  materials  should  be  vitalized,  or  be 
alive.  The  second  is,  that  they  should  be  free  to 
move  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  vitality. 

What  it  is  to  be  vitalized  in  mere  matter,  and 
how  this  is  done,  we  know.  It  is  to  have  life  com- 
municated to  that  which  was  dead  ;  and  this  is 
done  by  bringing  the  materials,  not  in  masses,  but 
particle  by  particle,  into  contact  with  that  which 
already  has  vitality-  It  is  done  as  by  a  leavening 
power,  a  kind  of  sacred  contagion  ;  and  when  it  is 
done,  the  materials  are  ready  to  be  marshaled  into 
their  places,  and  to  perform  their  functions  under 
the  vital  laws. 

So  far  the  process  is  beautiful  and  typical,  but 
the  marshaling  is  perhaps  more  so.  Here  the 
second  condition,  that  of  freedom,  comes  in.  In 
matter,  fluidity  is  freedom.  It  is  the  freedom  of 
the  individual  particle  to  move  in  any  direction  ; 
and  strange  as  it  may  seem,  that  a  fluid  should  be 
alive,  yet  it  is,  and  the  Scripture  doctrine,  that  the 
blood  "  is  the  life  thereof,"  is  a  philosophical  neces- 
sity. Having  then  materials  for  the  upbuilding  of 
every  part  of  the  body,  vitalized,  and  free,  as  held 
in  solution,  what  is  to  be  done  1  There  are  to  be 
formed  bone,  muscle,  tendon,  brain,  nerves,  skin, 
hair,  nails,  the  transparent  humors  of  the  eye,  and 
its  dark  pigment.  The  materials  are  undistinguish- 
able,  and  mixed  in  utter  confusion.  But  now  the 
affinity  shows  itself,  and  the  miracle  of  bringing 
order  out  of  chaos,  as  seen  in  the  first  creation,  is 
repeated.  Each  particle  goes  to  its  own  place, 
stands  in  its  own  lot,  performs  just  the  office  it  is 


13 


fitted  to  perform  ;  and  thus,  to  a  body  constantly 
changing  in  its  matter,  there  is  given  permanence, 
and  strength,  and  beauty. 

Of  the  process  now  mentioned  all  materials  are 
not  capable,  but  only  food.  It  is  the  capability  of 
this  that  makes  them  food.  But  whether  capable 
of  it  or  not,  any  substance  not  actually  vitalized, 
or  in  a  position  to  be  so,  is  a  foreign  substance. 
As  such  it  is  either  an  encumbrance  or  an  irritant, 
and  is  expelled  by  the  vital  force.  This  power  of 
rejection  and  expulsion  is  no  less  essential  than 
that  of  assimilation. 

All  this  perfectly  represents  what  occurs,  or 
should  occur,  in  that  higher  social  region  of  which 
the  text  speaks.  Every  particle  thus  vitalized 
becomes  a  living  stone  to  build  up  a  living  house, 
and  in  thus  helping  to  build  the  whole,  its  own 
place  is  found,  and  its  appetency  satisfied. 

In  passing  to  the  higher  spiritual  region,  if  we 
find  differences,  it  is  only  those  required  by  the 
nature  of  the  subject.  We  have  here  the  same 
indispensable  conditions  of  vitality  and  freedom, 
and  the  same  expulsive  power.  But  life  here,  in 
accordance  with  the  usage  of  the  Scriptures,  and 
with  all  usage,  is  something  more  than  life,  and 
death  is  not  merely  its  absence.  Life  here  is 
consciousness,  sensibility,  sympathy,  affection.  It 
is  consent  and  harmony,  and  the  more  intense  the 
life  in  one  direction,  the  more  perfect  the  death 
in  another.  To  be  alive  to  God  is  to  have  every 
faculty  active  and  quick  in  apprehending  his  per- 
fections, and   in   doing  his  will ;  and  one   wholly 


14 


in  this  state  would  be  dead  to  sin.  Its  allurements 
would  awaken  no  more  response  than  an  appeal 
to  the  senses  of  the  dead.  They  would  be  viands 
set  at  the  mouth  of  a  tomb.  On  the  other  hand, 
no  life  is  more  intense  than  that  of  him  who  is 
"  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins."  He  is  so  engrossed 
in  his  own  selfish  plans  that  no  voice  of  the 
word,  or  providence,  or  Spirit  of  God,  makes  any 
impression  upon  him.  Call  as  you  may,  there  is 
no  response.  There  is  no  voice,  nor  any  that 
answers  or  regards.  He  is  dead.  In  the  same 
way  men  may  be  alive  to  the  beauties  of  nature, 
or  of  art,  to  the  behests  of  duty,  the  calls  of 
compassion,  the  voice  of  their  country  ;  and  they 
may  be  dead  to  all  these.  They  may  be  wholly 
engrossed  in  business,  or  in  pleasure.  Men  may 
be  so  alive  to  the  wages  of  unrighteousness  as  to 
become,  as  the  Apostle  says,  "  trees  twice  dead, 
plucked  up  by  the  roots." 

We  say,  then,  that  for  a  social  structure,  he  is  a 
living  stone  who  is  capable  of  being  so  inwrought 
into  it  as  to  add,  and  only  add,  to  its  strength  and 
symmetry.  This  will  imply  that  he  be  permeated 
by  those  ideas  which  are  the  life  of  the  system, 
that  he  be  plastic  to  its  forces,  and  responsive 
to  its  instinctive  wants.  He  must  be  an  agent, 
and  not  an  instrument.  It  is  the  characteristic  of 
vital  methods,  as  opposed  to  mechanical,  that  the 
movement  is  from  within.  The  moment  the  inte- 
rior appetency,  and  impulse,  and  choice,  cease  to 
be  respected,  there  is  social  death ;  the  idea  of 
mutual   subserviency   through  vital  action,  which 


15 


is  God's  idea,  is  lost,  and  society,  instead  of  mov- 
ing like  the  heavens,  becomes  a  crazy  mechanism, 
whirling  and  crashing  on  with  the  blindness  and 
unsteadiness  of  human  passion  and  power. 

Such  is  the  idea  of  vitality  in  a  social  system. 
It  implies  a  sympathy,  a  rational  consent  and  har- 
mony of  the  individual  with  the  movements  and 
ends  of  the  system,  that  will  lead  him  to  seek  and 
to  keep,  not  office,  but  just  that  place  for  which 
he  is  best  fitted. 

The  idea  of  freedom,  figurative  in  matter,  is 
literal  here.  It  implies  both  the  immediate  ab- 
sence of  arbitrary  power,  and  security  against  it. 
The  lion  must  not  only  be  sated  for  the  moment, 
or  accidentally  sluggish,  he  must  be  caged.  There 
must  be  no  intervention  of  mere  will,  seeking,  for 
a  side  and  selfish  purpose,  to  wield  the  masses  as 
instruments,  or  to  prevent  any  living  stone  from 
finding  its  true  place.  The  idea  of  freedom  also 
implies  the  absence  of  any  horizontal  and  petrified 
strata  in  society,  as  caste,  or  fixed  classes,  which 
would  prevent  a  free  movement,  upwards  or  down- 
wards, horizontally  or  obliquely.  Such  strata  may 
exist  without  arbitrary  power  ;  it  may  exist  with- 
out them,  but  they  naturally  go  together  and  mutu- 
ally aid  each  other.  Established  orders  are  a 
frame-work  to  support  the  throne,  and  the  throne 
concentrates  power  to  guard  these  orders  from  the 
encroachments  of  each  other,  and  of  the  people. 

Of  such  a  combination  of  concentrated  power 
and  established  orders,  great  public  works,  and 
high    civilization    and    refinement    in    the  favored 


16 


classes,  are  the  natural  result,  while  the  lower 
classes  are  degraded.  In  such  a  form  of  society 
there  may  be  much  of  beauty,  and  power,  and 
beneficence.  Once  originated,  it  readily  perpetu- 
ates itself,  and  becomes  venerable.  From  this, 
with  the  vast  wealth  accumulated,  public  and  pri- 
vate, though  in  few  hands,  and  from  the  conse- 
quent magnificence,  it  appeals  strongly  to  the 
imagination  and  tends  to  control  the  associations. 
Being  born  into  it,  children  are  overshadowed  by 
it,  and  their  associations  are  conformed  to  its  order 
as  they  are  to  that  of  nature.  Both  seem  to  come 
from  a  power  above  them,  and  to  belong  almost 
equally  to  an  order  of  things  over  which  they  have 
no  control.  Institutions,  just  those  established, 
with  their  settled  order,  are  everything ;  the  indi- 
vidual is  nothing.  There  is  no  longer  room  for 
an  appeal  to  original  rights  and  fitnesses.  The 
sphere  of  choice  and  of  action  provided  by  God, 
and  needed  for  the  best  development  of  the  life  of 
all,  becomes  limited.  There  is  no  fluidity,  and  for 
a  man  to  pass  up  through  the  orders  of  society  by 
merit,  is  a  marvel.  If  he  choose  to  fall  in  with 
the  prescribed  course,  well ;  but  if  Buonaparte  is 
to  rise  from  the  lower  strata  of  society  to  its  top, 
it  can  be  only  as  the  metallic  vein  is  shot  up 
through  the  earthy  strata  by  an  underlying  force 
that  would  convulse  a  continent. 

Of  the  two  great  elements  of  social  order  now 
spoken  of,  vitality  and  freedom,  freedom  has  been 
most  prominent  in  the  thoughts  and  in  the  speech 
of  men.     Freedom  has  been  the  battle-cry  of  the 


17 


race.  For  this  heroes  have  fought*  Men  seek 
scope,  that  is  freedom,  for  the  action  of  vitality, 
but  do  not  so  readily  feel  the  deficiency  of  that  or 
seek  its  increase.  This  is  natural,  because  the 
absence  of  freedom  is  a  restraint  that  is  instantly 
felt,  and  naturally  resisted ;  but  the  absence  of 
vitality  is  insensibility,  and  the  less  life  a  man  has, 
of  any  kind,  physical,  intellectual,  spiritual,  the 
less  inclined  will  he  be  to  struggle  for  more. 

But  while  freedom  is  thus  more  prominent  than 
vitality,  it  is  not  at  all  in  the  same  rank.  All  good 
is  from  vitality.  Freedom  is  only  the  condition  of 
its  best  exercise.  For  a  good  man,  freedom  is  a 
good  ;  for  a  bad  man,  it  is  an  evil.  Without  vitality 
in  the  sense  of  the  text,  freedom  becomes  anarchy. 
With  it,  pervading  the  whole  social  system,  there 
will  be  essential  freedom,  whatever  the  outward 
form  of  society  may  be.  If  every  stone  in  the 
house  be  living,  there  will  be  nothing  to  originate 
mechanical  methods  and  obstructions  ;  vital  laws 
will  rule,  and  the  rule  of  these  is  freedom. 

All  that  has  now  been  said  will  apply  to  social 
unity  of  any  kind  ;  but  that  spoken  of  in  the  text 
is  spiritual.  "  Ye  are  built  up  a  spiritual  house." 
Let  there  be  vitality  and  freedom,  and  there  may 
be  unity  after  God's  method  ;  but  its  strength  and 
value  will  be  as  the  life  from  which  it  springs. 
Spiritual  unity  must  be  from  spiritual  life,  and  in 
these  we  find  the  sphere  and  method  of  God  in  his 
grandest  work. 

Of  spiritual  unity  the  peculiarities  are  two.  The 
first  is,  that  it  springs  from  that  life  which  is 
deepest. 


18 


Surely,  if  man  is  made  in  the  image  of  God,  that 
by  which  he  is  thus  made  must  be  that  which 
makes  him  man,  and  so  is  his  very  being.  If  so, 
his  natural  affinities — using  the  word  natural  in  its 
highest  sense — will  be  for  God  and  those  who  are 
like  him.  If  so,  as  union  with  God  and  those  who 
are  like  him  is  essential  to  this  life,  it  must  expel 
every  interest,  or  life,  or  love  incompatible  with  it. 
No  love  of  father  or  mother  may  compete  with  it. 
It  will  move  on  as  the  river  towards  the  ocean. 
Not  to  do  this,  would  be  to  deny  its  own  nature. 

The  second  peculiarity  of  spiritual  life,  at  least 
in  man,  is,  that  Christ  is,  for  him,  both  the  source 
of  vitality  and  the  centre  of  unity. 

Without  Christ,  men  are  destitute  of  spiritual 
life.  They  are  "  without  God,  and  without  hope." 
This  is  the  cardinal  fact  in  the  moral  history  of 
the  world.  The  recognition  or  non-recognition  of 
this,  will  determine  the  character  of  all  speculative 
theologies,  and  also  the  character  and  results  of  all 
efforts  for  the  good  of  man.  This  fact  the  world 
do  not  admit ;  and  hence  they  disallow  Christ,  both 
as  a  source  of  life  and  as  the  centre  of  unity.  He  is 
"  disallowed  indeed  of  men,  but  chosen  of  God  and 
precious."  It  is  on  this  that  the  whole  method  of 
God  in  the  restoration  of  man  is  based,  and  it  is 
for  the  recognition  of  this  by  men,  and  their  adop- 
tion of  God's  method  of  vitality  and  unity,  that  the 
tardy  and  laboring  and  distracted  times  wait.  No 
partial  reform  will  do  ;  no  "  coming  man."  Every 
where  men  are  divergent,  repellent.  The  bond  of 
a  common  humanity  has  been  found  to  be  but  a 


19 


bond  of  tow  to  bind  the  Samson  of  human  self- 
ishness and  passion.  There  must  be  a  divine  life, 
a  divine  centre,  a  more  than  human  bond.  This 
life  is  in  Christ.  He  is  "  the  life."  This  bond  is 
from  him.  In  him  are  condensed  all  human  rela- 
tionships, as  of  "  brother  and  sister  and  mother  ;  " 
and  to  these — higher  and  holier — that  of  Saviour 
is  added.  In  him,  as  the  second  Adam  ;  in  his 
matchless  character,  human,  yet  divine  ;  in  his  all- 
embracing  and  self-sacrificing  love ;  in  him,  as 
the  champion  of  humanity  in  its  weakness  and 
guilt,  able  and  willing  to  bring  succor  in  the  hour 
of  its  direst  need,  and  to  raise  it  up  from  the  dark- 
ness and  the  dust  of  death,  there  is  every  requisite 
for  a  centre  of  unity  for  the  race,  so  that  "  all 
things  which  are  on  earth,"  as  well  as  "  those 
which  are  in  heaven,  may  be  gathered  together  in 
one,  even  in  him."  In  this,  in  this  only,  is  there 
an  object  worthy  of  God.  He  has  created  worlds, 
and  families  of  worlds,  of  mere  matter,  and  given 
them  a  unity  of  unspeakable  beauty  and  grandeur  ; 
but  without  sensation  or  recognition,  without  en- 
joyment or  praise,  what  would  they  be  worth? 
Nothing.  No,  the  only  work  worthy  of  God  is 
one  crowned  by  creatures  made  in  his  image,  with 
their  vitality  from  him,  and  himself  the  centre  of 
their  unity — unity  in  love,  fitly  represented  by  the 
marriage  union.  This  work,  we  believe,  will  cor- 
respond in  its  vastness  to  that  of  the  stellar  hosts, 
and  as  far  transcend  them  in  glory  as  mind  tran- 
scends the  inanimate  clod.  It  will  embrace  all 
orders  of  rational  intelligences,  in  all  worlds  ;  sin 

3 


20 


and  its  consequences  will  be  eliminated,  and  it 
shall  stand  in  its  glorious  order  forever.  The 
promised  new  heavens  and  earth  do  not  so  much 
respect  any  new  combinations  and  unity  of  matter, 
as  of  conscious  agents  ;  and  they  will  be  such  that 
all  that  has  gone  before  in  the  works  of  God  will 
be  as  nothing.  "  For  behold,"  says  God,  "  I  create 
new  heavens  and  a  new  earth ;  and  the  former 
shall  not  be  remembered,  nor  come  into  mind. 
But  be  ye  glad  and  rejoice  forever  in  that  which 
I  create  ;  for,  behold,  I  create  Jerusalem  a  rejoic- 
ing and  her  people  a  joy." 

It  is  of  such  a  social  system,  my  beloved  friends 
of  the  Graduating  Class,  that  you  are  to  fit  your- 
selves to  form  a  part ;  it  is  into  such  a  system  that 
you  are  to  seek  to  bring  others.  This  will  com- 
prehend your  whole  duty.  It  is  the  focal  point 
to  which  our  efforts  for  you  have  converged,  and 
if  your  education  here  has  not  fitted  you  for  this, 
it  is  a  failure.  This  you  will  best  do,  not  by 
ignoring  or  disregarding  those  lower  social  systems 
on  earth  which  God  has  ordained,  but  by  filling 
your  places  as  living  stones  in  them  all.  That 
you  may  do  this  rightly,  I  have  wished,  in  these 
parting  words,  to  furnish  you  both  with  a  test  of 
systems,  and  with  guiding  principles. 

First,  then,  it  will  follow,  from  what  has  been 
said,  that  if  you  are  either  to  fit  yourselves  for 
such  a  system,  or  to  aid  in  fitting  others,  an  indis- 
pensable condition  must  be,  that  you  should  be 
alive. 


21 


What  can  a  dead  man  do  '?  In  the  first  place, 
death  can  enjoy  nothing.  And  then,  what  place 
has  a  cold,  unconscious,  apathetic  stone,  where 
everything  is  vital,  and  responsive,  and  eager  to 
meet  the  wants  of  the  whole  ]  It  is  an  obstruction 
not  merely,  but  an  offense,  and  cannot  be  perma- 
nently suffered.  So  is  it  in  the  family ;  so  in  the 
college — what  is  the  use  of  a  dead  student  ?  so 
in  the  state  ;  so  in  the  church ;  so,  emphatically, 
must  it  be  in  heaven.  With  little  vitality,  such 
offenses  may  be  endured,  but  the  more  intense  the 
life,  the  more  does  it  array  itself  against  all  death, 
and  seek  to  free  itself  from  its  contact.  The  very 
pavement  of  heaven  would  rise  against  the  foot 
of  the  wicked  ;  it  would  cast  them  out.  "  With- 
out are  dogs."  And  what,  again,  can  a  dead  man 
do  in  communicating  life  X  Life  comes  from  life. 
God  is  its  author  ;  but,  having  originated  it,  it 
spreads  from  centres  according  to  laws,  and  those 
centres  must  be  alive.  In  the  spiritual,  as  in  the 
natural  world,  there  is  no  spontaneous  generation. 
Would  you  communicate  knowledge  X  You  must 
have  it.  So  of  life.  Christianity  does  not  spring 
up  of  itself;  it  must  be  borne  by  the  living 
preacher.  Yes,  by  a  living  preacher,  and  not  by 
one  that  is  dead. 

If,  then,  you  would  enjoy  any  thing ;  if  you 
would  not  be  an  offense  ;  if  you  would  communi- 
cate any  thing,  you  must  be  alive. 

You  will  also  find,  in  what  has  been  said,  a  test 
of  all  social  organizations.  Of  these,  the  present 
emergency  requires  that  I  should  refer  especially 


22 


to  those  that  are  national,  and  to  your  duty  to  the 
government  in  which  you  are  to  have  a  part. 

Organizations  express  life,  and  react  upon  it. 
Of  these,  some  are  better  than  others.  It  is  not 
true,  that  "  that  is  the  best  government  which  is 
best  administered."  That  government  is  the  best, 
and  is  likely  to  be  best  administered,  which  is  con- 
structed most  nearly  after  God's  method,  as  indi- 
cated in  the  text.  That,  accordingly,  is  the  best 
government  which  combines  most  perfectly  vitality, 
freedom,  and  unity.  We  are  wont  to  think  of  the 
excellence  of  our  government  as  from  freedom. 
Not  so,  except  as  there  is  vitality  back  of  the  free- 
dom, and  as  it  leads  to  unity.  Its  excellence  is 
that  its  method  is  vital,  and  not  mechanical.  It 
is  self-government,  working  out,  as  by  an  instinct 
of  life,  the  common  good.  It  is  a  common-wealth. 
It  casts  the  character  in  the  mould  of  freedom,  and 
becomes  a  great  educating  and  formative  power. 
It  makes  a  radical  difference  whether  the  people 
have  a  government  distinct  from  themselves  and 
exercised  over  them,  or  whether  they  are  the  gov- 
ernment, expressing  their  will  through  constitu- 
tional forms.  In  the  one  case  the  people  will  be 
recipients  and  instruments,  receiving  a  provision 
made  for  them  by  those  whose  business  it  is  to 
take  care  of  them ;  in  the  other,  they  will  be  vital, 
and  will  perform  a  high  function  of  vitality  by 
which,  if  they  perform  it  well,  they  must  grow 
into  a  larger  manhood.  If  they  perform  it  well! 
Just  here  it  is  that  the  voice  of  patriotism,  of 
oppressed  humanity   every  where,  that  the  voice 


23 


of  God  reaches  every  young  man,  and  especially 
every  educated  young  man.  You  inherit  a  gov- 
ernment more  conformed  to  the  methods  of  God 
than  any  other.  There  is  in  it  more  of  freedom 
in  all  directions  ;  we  trust  there  is  also  more  of 
vitality,  of  unity,  and  of  power  to  expel  what 
would  be  destructive  of  its  life.  But  this  is  yet 
to  be  tested,  and  the  result  will  depend  on  the 
present  generation  of  young  men.  If  our  national 
life  shall  come  out  triumphant  in  its  struggle  with 
that  internal  and  cancerous  malady  to  which  it 
has  at  times  seemed  to  succumb,  it  will  be  the 
most  glorious  triumph  of  free  principles  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  Will  it  thus  come  out  ?  We 
think  so.  The  government  has  a  power,  and  the 
nation  a  life  and  a  conscious  unity,  that  we  did 
not  know  of  till  the  present  struggle.  Let  but 
the  demon  of  slavery  be  cast  out,  and  though  it 
leave  the  nation  rent,  and  torn,  and  prostrate,  we 
shall  yet  rise  to  a  strength  and  greatness  unknown 
before.  There  is  no  strength  like  that  of  unity 
from  vitality  and  freedom.  There  is  no  beauty 
like  it.  Go  forth,  then,  and  do  what  you  can  in 
giving  to  the  nation  this  strength  and  beauty.  Be 
true  to  God's  methods  ;  be  true  to  the  interests 
of  freedom,  and  to  the  rights  of  man. 

Again,  as  we  have  seen  that  vitality  is  the  chief 
thing  in  order  to  social  unity,  it  will  follow  that 
your  highest  aim  will  be  to  communicate  that. 

This  was  done  by  our  Saviour.  He  had  life 
in  himself.  He  was  the  Life,  and  his  great  object 
was  to  give  life  to  the  world.     For  this  he  gave 


24 


himself.  This  principle  was  original  with  him. 
It  is  distinctive.  It  is  this,  and  this  only,  that  has 
made  his  religion  a  power  in  the  world,  working 
like  leaven.  Overlooked  hy  the  world,  "  disal- 
lowed of  men,"  it  is  yet  demonstrably  the  only 
true  principle  of  reform.  If  a  living  house  is  to 
be  built,  there  must  be  living  stones.  The  diffi- 
culty in  social  structures  is  in  the  material.  If  this 
nation  is  to  fail,  it  will  be  from  that.  Ambition, 
selfishness,  human  wisdom,  take  such  materials  as 
they  find  and  use  them  as  they  may,  often  skillfully, 
for  their  own  ends.  Christ  says,  begin  with  the 
materials.  "Make  the  tree  good.''''  Go  to  the  igno- 
rant, the  vicious,  the  proud,  the  sensual,  the  selfish 
in  every  form,  and  teach  them  that  wisdom  of  God 
which  consists,  not  in  getting  any  thing,  or  in 
achieving  any  thing,  but  in  becoming  as  little  chil- 
dren before  him.  Thus  shall  they  enter,  by  love, 
into  his  kingdom,  and  into  the  heirship  of  all 
things.  This  is  totally  different  from  any  achieve- 
ment for  admiration,  or  from  any  exercise  of 
power,  as  by  the  great  ones  of  the  earth.  It  is 
wholly  alien  from  the  spirit  of  the  world,  and  yet 
from  this  only  can  there  be  renovation  in  society, 
or  fruit  unto  life  everlasting.  This  will  preclude 
all  monkish  seclusion,  it  will  bring  you  heart  to 
heart  with  your  fellow-men,  no  matter  who,  so 
they  be  men,  and  will  call  for  all  you  may  have 
of  life  to  communicate.  Your  usefulness  will  not 
be  as  your  talents,  but  as  you  may  communicate 
vitality.  I  rejoice,  my  dear  friends,  in  the  confi- 
dence that  so  many  of  you  have  adopted  this  prin- 


25 


ciple.  Apply  it  in  your  lives,  unmoved  by  the 
sneers  of  skepticism,  or  by  the  success  and  self- 
complacency  of  the  worldly  wise. 

Once  more,  in  view  of  the  discordance  and  divi- 
sions in  the  world,  it  will  readily  occur  to  you, 
from  what  has  been  said,  how  important  it  is  that 
your  centres  of  unity  should  be  rightly  chosen. 

Both  your  influence  and  peace  will  depend  much 
upon  this.  Here  your  wisdom  will  be  to  choose 
only  those  which  God  has  established.  God  has 
established  the  family,  and  not  communism  ;  the 
state,  and  not  party  ;  the  church,  the  one  living, 
spiritual  church,  and  not  sects  ;  Christ,  and  not 
popes,  or  theological  doctors  and  teachers.  The 
true  ground  of  union  is  vitality  with  reference  to  a 
common  centre  ;  and  distant  as  it  may  seem,  we 
hope  and  believe  the  time  will  come  when  men 
will  every  where  swing  away  from  centres  false, 
artificial,  divisive,  and  revolve  only,  with  mutual 
attraction,  around  those  that  are  God-appointecl. 

Finally,  while  I  exhort  you  to  enter,  as  a  vital 
part,  into  every  social  unity  instituted  by  God,  the 
great  question  with  you,  as  with  us  all,  is  whether 
you  have  come  to  Christ.  "  Unto  whom  coming." 
Have  you  come  to  him  as  unto  a  living  stone,  and 
so  been  made  yourselves  living  as  to  be  fit  to  be- 
come a  part  of  that  spiritual  house  which  God  is 
building  \  Christ,  my  dear  friends,  is  still  "  disal- 
lowed of  men."  The  builders  refuse  him.  So  do 
not  you.  You  are  building  for  eternity  ;  look  well 
to  your  foundation.  Christ  is  "  chosen  of  God," 
and   other   foundation    can   no    man    lay.      He  is 


26 


precious  to  him  as  "  the  Head-stone  of  the  corner." 
"  He  is  precious  to  them  that  believe."  If  you 
have  not  done  so,  come  to  him  now,  in  this  hour 
of  transition,  and  of  out-look  upon  the  future,  and 
he  will  be  precious  to  you.  Is  it  to  be  to  any  of 
you  that  your  strength  will  be  weakened  in  the 
way,  and  that  death  will  claim  you  early  \  Christ 
will  be  precious,  O  how  precious  !  Are  any  of 
you,  as  some  are,  in  seeking  to  sustain  those 
powers  that  be,  and  that  are  ordained  of  God,  to 
encounter  the  temptations  of  a  camp,  the  exposure 
of  a  southern  climate,  the  hazards  of  the  battle- 
field \  How  precious  will  be  the  presence  and 
succor  of  One  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother  ! 
Are  you  to  bear  the  responsibilities  of  life,  and 
wage  its  battles  till  old  age  1  Little  do  you  know 
of  your  own  weakness,  and  of  the  besetments  and 
fierce  struggles  of  the  long  way,  if  a  divine  Helper 
would  not  be  precious  to  you.  He  will  be  precious 
to  you  in  the  final  hour.  When  you  shall  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  his  rod 
and  his  staff,  they  shall  comfort  you.  And  when 
the  present  order  shall  come  to  an  end,  and  that 
building  of  God,  whose  stones  are  now  preparing, 
shall  go  up  without  the  sound  of  the  axe  or  the 
hammer,  till  "  the  head-stone  thereof  shall  be 
brought  forth  with  shoutings,"  you  shall  be  there, 
and  cry,  "  Grace,  grace,  unto  it." 

'  The  Lord  bless  you  and  keep  you :  the  Lord 
make  his  face  shine  upon  you,  and  be  gracious 
unto  you :  the  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon 
you,  and  give  you  peace.' 


EISTIL,-A.Iia-EIVEErTT, 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED   AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,  MS. 


AUGUST    2,    1863. 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.    D. 

President  of  Williams  College. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN   &   SON,   42  CONGRESS   STREET. 
1863. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 

T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


2   COKINTHIANS   vi.  13. 

NOW    FOR  A  RECOMPENSE    IN  THE    SAME,   (i    SPEAK    AS  UNTO   MY    CHILDREN,) 
BE    YE    ALSO    ENLARGED. 

That  is  a  slow  process  by  which  enlargement 
comes  to  man  in  his  apprehension  of  himself,  and 
of  his  wider  relations.  At  his  birth  he  is  often 
spoken  of  as  a  stranger.  He  is  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  world  —  how  strange  !  —  but  to  no  one  is 
he  a  greater  stranger  than  to  himself.  How  little 
does  the  infant  know  or  suspect  of  the  capacities 
that  are  in  him  for  apprehension,  for  joy  and  suf- 
fering, for  varied  emotion  and  passion,  for  action, 
and  for  an  eternal  duration.  He  is  a  point  that  is 
to  enlarge  into  a  capacity  to  reflect  the  universe, 
but  that  capacity  is  revealed  only  as  he  is  brought 
face  to  face  with  that  which  is  to  act  upon  him, 
and  upon  which  he  is  to  act,  and  few  men,  if 
any,  learn,  during  a  life-time,  their  own  capacities. 
Among  the  last  things  that  a  man  comes  to  know 
thoroughly,  is  himself. 

Then  of  the  past,  of  the  future,  of  things  around 
him,  what  does  he  know  1  Of  that  endless  dura- 
tion that  is  back  of  him,  he  knows  nothing.     He 


does  not  know  that  there  has  been  such  a  dura- 
tion, much  less  what  has  taken  place  during  its 
countless  ages.  Whether  he  is  the  first  child  of 
the  first  man,  or  the  last  in  a  succession  of  myriads 
of  generations,  he  knows  not.  So  of  the  space 
around  him,  and  what  is  in  it.  To  him,  the  walls 
that  his  eyes  rest  upon  are  the  limit  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  those  around  him  are  all  the  beings  it 
contains.  Of  wide  plains,  and  high  mountains, 
and  broad  oceans,  of  an  infinite  space  with  its 
countless  suns  and  systems,  of  the  multitudes  of 
men,  and  the  myriads  of  the  heavenly  hosts,  he 
has  no  apprehension  or  suspicion.  So  also  of  the 
great  future.  Shall  all  things  continue  as  they  are 
forever  1  Shall  the  earth  and  the  things  that  are 
therein  be  burnt  up  1  When  will  the  millennium 
begin  1  Where  will  he  be  after  myriads  of  ages  ? 
These,  and  such  as  these,  are  questions  that  do  not 
as  yet  disturb  him. 

Now  the  business  of  education  for  this  incipient 
being,  certainly  its  first  business,  is  simply  enlarge- 
ment—enlargement in  the  apprehension  of  things 
past,  and  future,  and  around  him ;  and  the  com- 
prehension of  them  so  as  to  bring  them  all  into 
unity. 

But  to  this  enlargement  there  are  great  natural 
obstacles  ;  and  if  man  be  left  to  himself,  it  must, 
whether  we  regard  the  individual  or  the  race,  be 
slow.  In  part,  it  is  indeed  spontaneous.  The 
child,  let  alone,  will  grow  up  to  such  apprehension 
and  enlargement  as  will  enable  him  to  meet  his 
animal   wants,   and   something  more.     But  in  its 


5 

relation  to  the  human  faculties,  this  universe  is  so 
constituted  that  enlargement  soon  ceases,  unless 
there  be  voluntary,  rational,  persistent,  and  organ- 
ized effort.  From  the  great  number  of  objects 
around  us,  their  complexity,  the  magnitude  of 
some  and  the  minuteness  of  others ;  from  the 
subtlety  of  natural  agents,  the  interaction  of  laws 
and  the  long  cycles  of  nature  ;  and  from  the  neces- 
sity of  labor  and  the  brevity  of  life,  it  is  clear  that 
one  individual,  or  one  generation,  could  do  but 
little.  How  could  the  first  man,  or  the  first  gener- 
ations of  men,  have  known  that  the  earth  is  round, 
or  that  it  revolves  round  the  sun,  or  that  its  surface 
lies  in  strata,  or  have  calculated  an  eclipse  \  How 
could  they  have  known  the  composition  of  bodies, 
and  the  subtle  agents  of  chemistry  1  Clearly  man 
was  placed  here  as  in  a  school,  and  both  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  race  were  to  be  gradually  educated 
into  such  an  enlargement  as  to  comprehend  and 
use  wisely  the  substances  and  forces  around  him, 
and  to  know  something  of  his  position,  among  the 
stars,  and  as  related  to  other  worlds. 

Owing  to  the  obstacles  just  mentioned,  this  pro- 
cess of  enlargement  could  not  have  been  rapid,  but 
it  might  have  been  more  so  than  it  has  been.  Men 
are  sluggish,  and  gravitate  towards  sensuality ; 
they  fall  into  habits  and  routine,  and  run  in  ruts  ; 
they  carry  the  grain  on  one  side  of  the  horse,  and 
a  stone  on  the  other,  because  their  fathers  did. 
Notions  indolently  taken  up  gather  about  them  a 
crust  of  antiquity,  that  no  one  dares  to  break 
through.     There   is   nothing  that  men   have  been 


6 


so  reluctant  to  do  as  to  think.  They  would  go  on 
pilgrimages,  hang  on  hooks,  accept  dogmas,  bow 
down  to  power,  but  they  have  been  slow  to  put 
forth  their  powers  in  an  earnest  effort  after  com- 
prehension and  enlargement. 

And  not  indolence  only,  but  pride  and  selfish- 
ness have  arrayed  and  organized  themselves  against 
this  enlargement.  Once  accepted,  a  dogma  links 
itself  with  modes  of  thought  and  habits  of  associa- 
tion; it  becomes  a  part  of  the  systems  of  the  schools, 
or  of  religious  teaching.  Then  pride  comes  in, 
and  the  will  is  up,  and  men  contend,  not  for  truth, 
but  for  victory.  Often  also  a  dogma  is  so  in- 
woven with  the  structure  of  society,  that  if  you 
overthrow  it,  men's  occupation  will  be  gone.  Then 
interest  takes  the  lead,  and  pride  and  passion  fall 
in,  and  the  whole  guild  of  silversmiths,  with  what- 
ever rabble  they  can  collect,  are  full  of  wrath,  and 
cry  out,  saying,  "Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians." 
Again,  knowledge  is  power.  Ignorant  men  may  be 
held  in  subjection,  and  used  as  instruments;  and 
whole  classes,  nay,  the  mass  of  mankind,  have 
been  so  held,  of  set  purpose,  and  by  law,  that  those 
thus  holding  them  might  rule  over  them,  and  avail 
themselves  of  their  labor. 

From  these  causes  there  has  been  little  zeal  for 
truth ;  and  men  zealous  for  it,  and  especially  those 
in  advance  of  their  age,  have  been  persecuted. 
Leaders  of  the  race,  and  those  set  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  truth,  have  been  its  worst  enemies. 
Holding  the  key  of  knowledge,  they  have  not 
entered  in  themselves,  and  them  that  were  entering 


in,  they  have  hindered.  Seats  of  learning,  the  very 
fortresses  erected  to  guard  and  advance  truth,  have 
turned  their  guns  against  her. 

But  now  there  is  a  change.  The  bonds  are 
relaxed.  Henceforth  no  coming  Galileo  shall  need 
to  smite  with  his  foot  the  floor  of  a  dungeon  when 
he  says  the  earth  moves.  If  not  the  summer,  yet 
the  spring-time  of  truth  is  come.  The  few  are 
greatly  enlarged,  and  the  mass  of  humanity  is 
quickened.  A  feeling  that  gropes  for  the  light, 
is  pervading  it,  a  dim  thought  that  it  is  coming 
out  into  enlargement.  Always  there  has  been  a 
voice  from  every  thing  that  could  supply  want,  or 
gratify  curiosity,  or  enlarge  science,  or  adorn  life ; 
from  the  flower  on  the  earth  and  the  star  in  the 
heavens,  saying,  Be  ye  enlarged  ;  but  now  that 
voice  is  heard  by  the  alert  sense  of  very  many. 
Now,  too,  it  begins  to  be  felt  that  truth  is  one. 
The  different  angles  and  walls  of  her  temple  are 
seen  to  belong  to  one  building,  and  instead  of 
scowls  and  reproaches,  the  workmen  more  often 
send  greetings  to  each  other,  and  feel  that  they  are 
working  together. 

To  this  wide  enlargement  there  are,  as  has  been 
said,  natural  obstacles  ;  but  there  is  also  a  tendency 
to  it,  and  with  right  affection  progress  would  be 
indefinite.  From  the  first,  the  affections  are  com- 
plicated with  the  intellect,  they  react  upon  it  as 
the  brain  upon  the  stomach,  and  when  these  are 
disordered  and  dwarfed,  it  is  not  possible  that  the 
general  intellectual  level  should  be  high.  Society 
will  soon  reach  a  point  where  it  will  become  sta- 


8 

tionary,  and  will  begin  to  go  back.  Hence  the 
great  thing  needed  is  enlargement  of  the  affections, 
and  it  is  accordingly  of  this  that  the  Apostle 
speaks  in  the  text.  "  O,  ye  Corinthians,"  says  he, 
"  our  mouth  is  open  unto  you,  our  heart  is  en- 
larged. Ye  are  not  straitened  in  us,  but  ye  are 
straitened  in  your  own  bowels.  Now  for  a  recom- 
pense in  the  same,  (I  speak  as  unto  my  children,) 
be  ye  also  enlarged."  Be  enlarged  in  your  affec- 
tions. Give  as  you  receive ;  love  as  you  are  loved. 
For  the  Apostle  Paul  to  say  this  to  the  Corin- 
thians, was  a  great  thing — how  great,  we  can  un- 
derstand only  by  going  back  to  his  position.  So- 
cially, the  world  was  in  a  state  of  disintegration. 
Men  were  divided  into  clans,  tribes,  nationalities, 
with  diversities  of  language,  customs,  interests,  that 
were  constant  grounds  of  alienation  and  of  settled 
antipathies ;  and,  to  human  view,  any  common 
ground  or  centre  of  unity  for  the  race  was  hope- 
less. Except  in  dreams  of  conquest  and  subjuga- 
tion, the  very  idea  of  such  unity  did  not  exist. 
But  of  nations  thus  diverse  and  hostile,  the  Jews 
were  the  most  exclusive,  and  the  Apostle  was 
not  only  a  Jew,  but  had  belonged  to  their 
straitest  religious  sect.  As  a  Jew,  his  pride,  and 
self-complacency,  and  zeal  for  Judaism,  were 
boundless,  and  he  looked  upon  Gentiles  with 
contempt  and  aversion.  Yet  we  here  find  him 
offering  his  fraternal  regards,  and  warmest  love, 
and  intimate  fellowship  to  Gentiles,  and  seeking 
theirs  in  return,  and  this  without  regard  to  the 
previous  rank,  or  cultivation,  or  character  of  those 


Gentiles.  Of  some  we  know  that  their  origin  was 
low,  and  that  their  character  had  been  vile.  This 
too  he  did  on  a  principle  that  would  include  all, 
for  we  hear  him  saying  to  other  Gentiles,  "  There 
is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  there  is  neither  bond  nor 
free,  there  is  neither  male  nor  female  ;  for  ye  are 
all  one  in  Christ  Jesus.  And  if  ye  be  Christ's, 
then  are  ye  Abraham's  seed,  and  heirs  according 
to  the  promise." 

Now  here  was  a  moral  miracle.  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  it.  To  one  who  has  observed  the 
tenacity  of  national  pride  and  hate,  and  the  viru- 
lence of  religious  bigotry,  and  who  knows  the  state 
of  feeling  at  that  time  in  regard  to  women  and 
slaves  and  barbarians,  this  transition  from  the  ex- 
treme of  narrowness  to  enlargement  and  absolute 
universality  of  affection,  and  to  the  recognition  of 
all  as  entitled  to  common  privileges,  is  as  unac- 
countable on  merely  natural  principles  as  any 
miracle  of  the  New  Testament.  Now,  the  sym- 
pathies of  this  former  bigot  embraced  the  race. 
He  knew  no  man  after  the  flesh.  To  him  every 
man  was  a  man,  made  in  the  image  of  God,  re- 
deemed by  Christ,  exposed  to  the  second  death, 
but  capable  of  being  saved,  and  so  he  preached 
Christianity  to  all  men  alike,  and  received  all  men 
alike,  for  so  must  it  be  preached,  and  so  must  men 
be  received,  if  it  is  to  have  its  full  power. 

In  adopting  the  above  principle,  the  Apostle  was 
simply  faithful  to  the  system  he  had  espoused, 
which  stood  self-vindicated  as  from  God  by  its 
recognition  of  man  as  man,  and   through  that,  by 


10 

its  fitness  and  tendency  to  become  universal. 
Hence  its  leavening  power.  Did  the  Apostle 
preach  at  Rome  ?  Why  not  in  Spain  also  1  If  in 
Spain,  why  not  in  Britain  and  to  our  barbarous 
ancestors  there'?  By  ignoring  every  thing  inci- 
dental, and  seizing,  as  the  material  of  its  system 
and  the  ground  of  its  regards  upon  humanity  itself 
as  it  must  exist  under  all  modifications,  it  passed 
at  once  through  all  barriers  of  nationality,  and 
clanship,  and  caste,  and  condition,  and  showed 
itself  to  have  an  assimilating  and  organizing  power 
that  was  capable  of  bringing  all  people  into  unity. 
This  was  the  wonderful  fact  about  it.  As  related 
to  ultimate  success  it  was  the  cardinal  fact,  and 
one  not  to  be  compromised.  It  is  the  fact  that  has 
made  Christianity  revolutionary  from  that  day  to 
this.  If  at  times  the  giant  has  seemed  to  be  quiet, 
as  if  pressed  down  by  the  mountains  of  human 
wickedness,  it  has  only  been  to  gather  strength  for 
the  upheaval,  and  the  earthquake.  And  so  it  will 
be,  for  in  this  fact  is  the  principle  of  all  true 
progress. 

Marvellous  then  as  this  enlargement  of  the 
Apostle  would  appear  on  any,  other  ground,  it  is 
yet  perfectly  natural  when  we  look  at  him  as  a 
disciple  of  Christ  both  comprehending  his  system, 
and  in  sympathy  with  him.  As  in  sympathy  with 
Christ  he  could  not  do  otherwise.  The  example 
of  Christ  was  the  great  miracle  of  love,  both  in  its 
intensity  and  in  its  enlargement.  In  its  intensity 
it  was  unto  death,  in  its  enlargement  it  was  for  the 
whole  world.     Receiving  such  a  spirit  of  enlarge- 


11 

merit  as  this  from  the  Master,  how  could  there  be 
in  the  disciple  any  thing  of  restriction  or  limita- 
tion 1  How  could  he  refuse  to  preach  Christ's 
gospel  to  any  for  whom  He  died?  How  could  he 
refuse  to  receive  any  whom  Christ  received  1  No 
longer  do  we  wonder  when  we  find  this  former 
bigot  and  persecutor  exulting  in  this  universality, 
and  saying  so  freely,  and  fully,  and  grandly, 
"  Where  there  is  neither  Greek  nor  Jew,  circum- 
cision nor  uncircumcision,  Barbarian,  Scythian, 
bond  nor  free ;  but  Christ  is  all,  and  in  all." 

From  this  example  of  the  Apostle,  we  readily 
see  what  that  enlargement  is  of  which  he  speaks. 
It  is  a  coming  out  from  all  narrowness  and  restric- 
tion of  nationality,  or  clanship,  or  sect,  or  caste,  or 
local  prejudice,  or  prejudice  from  color,  and  so 
apprehending  the  rights  of  man  as  God-given,  and 
his  dignity  and  destiny  as  made  in  the  image  of 
God,  that  we  shall  always  feel  towards  every  man, 
and  treat  him  as  a  man.  This  is  no  glittering 
generality,  barren  and  impracticable.  It  is  the 
great  want  and  claim  of  this  age  in  which  we  live. 
It  is  the  law  of  God.     It  is  the  claim  of  humanity. 

This  enlargement,  which  is  that  of  Christianity, 
some,  especially  French  writers,  have  sought  to 
identify  with  democracy  ;  but  while  Christianity  is 
the  only  foundation  of  a  quiet  and  permanent 
democracy,  they  are  yet  rather  in  contrast.  De- 
mocracy respects  political  rights  and  relations  ; 
Christianity  respects  all  relations,  and  may  exist 
under  all  forms  of  government.  Democracy  looks 
chiefly  at  rights  ;    Christianity  at  duties.      Democ- 


12 

racy  respects  this  world  ;  Christianity  includes  both 
worlds,  but  looks  chiefly  at  ultimate  destiny.  De- 
mocracy concedes  rights,  but  requires  no  enlarge- 
ment of  the  affections  ;  Christianity  is,  itself,  in  its 
very  essence,  an  enlargement  of  the  affections. 
Democracy  is  compatible  with  great  individual 
corruption  within  a  nation,  and  with  hostility  and 
boundless  ambition  in  the  relations  of  nations  to 
each  other  ;  Christianity  involves  individual  integ- 
rity and  good- will  to  all.  Democracy  may  be 
atheistic  —  men  have  sought  to  make  it  so  ;  the 
very  principle  and  foundation  of  Christianity  and 
the  enlargement  it  implies,  is  from  the  relation  of 
each  to  all  as  in  the  image  of  God,  and  so  from 
their  common  relation  to  him. 

To  the  enlargement  now  spoken  of  there  is  not, 
as  to  that  of  apprehension,  any  natural  obstacle. 
Enlargement  of  affection  might,  and  should  accom- 
pany that  of  the  intellect  as  naturally  as  the  heat 
of  the  sun  accompanies  its  light.  But  in  this 
world  it  is  not  thus,  and  it  is  both  sad  and  amaz- 
ing—  if  it  were  not  so  sad  it  would  be  amusing  — 
to  trace  the  history  of  the  world  as  it  is  related  to 
this  want  of  enlargement.  There  is  no  conceiva- 
ble difference  by  which  men  are  separated  from 
each  other  that  has  not  been  made  a  ground  of 
alienation  in  affection,  and  often  of  positive  hos- 
tility. 

"  Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations." 

A  difference  in  name,  nation,  color,  language,  clan, 
occupation,  residence,  as  in  different  towns,  or  even 


13 

at  different  ends  of  the  same  street,  and  especially 
a  difference  of  belief  and  opinion,  become  the 
ground  of  alienations,  divisions,  and  of  settled, 
hereditary  and  unreasoning  hate.  Passions  thus 
excited  have  been  strong  enough  to  override  both 
humanity  and  self-interest.  Often,  as  in  families 
and  clans,  these  passions  have  been  intense  and 
persistent  in  proportion  as  their  range  has  been 
narrow  ;  often  too  as  the  point  of  difference  has 
been  frivolous,  and  as  the  opponents  resembled 
each  other  the  more,  except  in  the  one  point  of 
difference. 

Such  differences  must,  of  course,  respect  points 
that  are  capable  of  drawing  in  by  association  the 
deep  feelings  of  our  nature,  and  will  have  more 
power  as  those  feelings  are  deeper. 

Hence  it  is  that,  in  this  respect,  religion  has 
furnished  so  sad  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  When  its  grand  beliefs,  tending  only  to 
enlargement,  are  displaced  by  superstition,  and 
those  deep  feelings  in  which  true  religion  chiefly 
consists,  concentrate  themselves  about  trifles  and 
forms,  we  might  expect  a  narrowness  more  intense 
than  any  other,  and  a  bigotry  more  unscrupulous 
and  cruel.  And  so  it  has  been,  and  is  now.  So 
great  has  been  this  narrowness  that  it  has  been 
impossible  to  caricature  it,  because  the  imagi- 
nation could  conceive  of  nothing  more  narrow. 
The  Little-Endians  and  the  Big-Enclians  of  Swift, 
whose  difference  was  on  the  question  whether  they 
should  break  their  eggs  at  Easter  at  the  little  or 
the  big  end,  were  not  a  whit  beyond  the  four-year- 


14 

olds  and  the  five-year-olds  in  Ireland  of  whom  we 
have  seen  accounts  the  present  year,  whose  fends 
have  often  led  to  murder,  and  between  whom  it 
became  necessary  for  the  bishop  to  interpose  his 
authority.  But  more  wonderful  than  this,  we  have 
seen,  in  our  own  country,  large  and  intelligent 
bodies  of  Christians  whose  differences  touched,  and 
were  conceded  to  touch,  no  vital  point  of  Chris- 
tianity, withholding  all  tokens  of  Christian  com- 
munion and  fellowship,  and  holding  each  other  as 
heathen  men  and  publicans  ;  and  we  have  even 
heard  prescribed,  as  the  way  of  peace,  the  putting 
up  of  high  fences  and  keeping  them  in  good  re- 
pair. What  a  work  for  the  followers  of  Him 
who  "  broke  down  the  middle  wall  of  partition " 
between  the  Jews  and  the  Gentiles,  "  having  abol- 
ished in  his  flesh  the  enmity,  even  the  law  of  com- 
mandments contained  in  ordinances  "  —  that  is  in 
external  rites  and  things  unessential  — "  for  to 
make  in  himself  of  twain,  one  new  man,  so  making 
peace ! " 

It  is  also  impossible  to  conceive  of  bigotry  more 
unscrupulous  and  cruel  than  there  has  been.  In 
connection  with  no  one  of  its  elements,  save  that 
of  religion,  could  human  nature  have  either  origi- 
nated or  endured  such  an  institution  as  the  Inqui- 
sition ;  and  the  imagination  may  be  drawn  on  in 
vain  to  exceed  in  its  conceptions  the  horrid  en- 
ginery that  has  been  devised  to  do  professedly  the 
work  of  Christian  love. 

But  as  much  ground  as  there  is  for  discourage- 
ment in   regard   to  this  form  of  enlargement,  yet 


15 

here,  too,  the  bonds  are  relaxed.  Not  alone  is 
there  light  on  the  mountain  tops,  there  is  more  of 
quickening  warmth  in  the  valleys,  and  here  and 
there  a  deeper  verdure.  That  the  perfection  of 
the  world  requires  that  the  two  forms  of  enlarge- 
ment should  go  on  together,  we  can  see.  But  as 
there  are  in  the  way  of  this  no  natural  obstacles, 
so  neither  is  there  for  it  any  law  of  progress, 
except  as  love  naturally  follows  light,  which  all 
experience  shows  that  in  this  world  it  does  not  in 
fact  do.  Hence,  for  such  a  training  of  the  race  as 
shall  effect  this  enlargement,  we  must  rely  wholly 
on  the  special  providence  and  grace  of  God. 

The  two  points  to  be  reached  are  —  the  one,  that 
every  man  shall  so  respect  manhood  as  to  treat 
every  other  man  as  a  man  —  the  other,  that  every 
Christian  shall  so  respect  Christianhood,  as  to  treat 
every  Christian  as  a  Christian.  Manhood  in  man  ; 
Christ  in  the  Christian  —  these  are  to  be  the  ob- 
jects of  our  regard,  and  nothing  selfish  or  sectarian, 
nothing  local  or  accidental  may  prevent  our  en- 
largement to  the  full  recognition  of  every  right 
and  claim  which  these  would  involve.  It  is  not 
that  the  claims  of  self-interest  rightly  viewed,  and 
of  nearer  relationship  are  to  be  disregarded.  These 
have  their  place,  primary,  imperative,  sacred  ;  but 
these  claims  are  met  with  the  broadest  wisdom 
only  when  they  are  met  in  full  compatibility  with 
the  claims  of  the  widest  enlargement.  Towards 
these  two  points  the  movement  has  been  slow.  It 
is  wonderful  with  what  difficulty  men  have  broken 
away  from  the  narrowness  of  family,  and  clan,  and 


16 

tribe,  and  party,  and  caste,  and  sect,  and  nation- 
ality. But  there  has  been  movement.  Feudalism 
melted  into  nationalities,  often  ill-assorted,  and 
mere  aggregates,  but  always  with  some  increase 
of  enlargement.  Clanship,  as  in  Scotland,  that 
seemed  to  inhere  as  by  some  special  mordant,  has 
faded  out.  The  Thugism  of  Ireland  has  well-nigh 
passed  away.  The  French  Emperor  has  kissed 
the  English  Queen,  and  the  English  and  French 
have  fought  side  by  side.  A  new  continent,  this 
American  continent,  has  been  opened,  where  men 
might  stand  and  see  in  the  distance,  and  in  a  way 
to  cause  enlargement,  arbitrary  distinctions  and 
conventionalities  that  had  become  chronic  and 
hopeless,  and  where  they  might  begin  anew  on  a 
broader  basis.  To  this  continent  and  to  this  coun- 
try have  been  swept,  as  by  a  vast  diluvial  current, 
English,  and  Irish,  and  Scotch,  and  French,  and 
Germans,  and  Hollanders,  and  Swedes,  and  Jews ; 
and  in  the  surging  of  free  institutions  they  have 
been  rolled  together,  and'  rounded,  and  smoothed. 
No  experiment  devised  for  the  purpose  could  have 
been  better  adapted  to  promote  enlargement. 

And  if  we  turn  from  nationalities  and  political 
relations  to  the  church  and  to  sects,  there  too  there 
is  movement.  The  cave  whence  Giant  Pope  for- 
merly came  out  to  seize  pilgrims  on  the  King's 
highway,  has  become  his  prison,  where  he  is 
guarded  by  foreign  soldiers,  and  must  needs  be 
defended  from  his  own  subjects.  The  Inquisition 
cannot  be  reproduced.  In  Spain,  though  by  great 
effort  and  special  grace,  instead  of  imprisonment 


17 

for  nine  years,  those  who  read  the  Bible  are  only 
spoiled  of  their  goods,  and  banished.  Even  Turks 
are  converted  to  Christ,  and  avow  it,  and  their 
heads  remain  on  their  shoulders.  Nay,  Turkey 
may  well  put  Spain  to  the  blush,  for  there  the 
Bible  may  be  freely  sold  and  read.  In  England 
there  is  progress.  The  intolerance  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church  is  waning,  and,  both  politically  and 
socially,  Dissenters  are  less  under  ban.  And  then 
there  is  one  country  where  there  is  no  alliance  of 
church  and  state,  and  no  civil  disability,  or  liability, 
to  taxation,  or  social  ban  with  a  court  to  sanction 
it,  on  account  of  religious  belief,  or  form  of  worship. 
If,  to  some  of  these  things,  there  are  tendencies 
here  ;  if  we  are  in  danger,  as  we  are,  from  ecclesi- 
asticism  ;  if  the  old  aristocratic  leaven,  driven  from 
politics,  tends  to  pass  into  the  church  ;  there  are 
also  opposite  tendencies,  and  we  hope  the  spirit  of 
enlargement  will  gain  the  mastery.  It  must  gain 
it  in  the  end. 

Having  thus  seen  what  that  whole  enlargement 
would  be  that  is  involved  in  the  text,  I  observe  in 
the  first  place,  that  the  Bible  method  of  reaching 
this  is  the  reverse  of  that  adopted  by  the  world. 
The  world  seeks  first  intellectual  enlargement.  Its 
education  is  for  that,  and  the  ends  secured  through 
that.  For  enlargement  of  the  heart  it  cares  little, 
and  supposes  that  will  follow  of  course.  But  not 
thus  can  even  a  general  enlightenment  be  reached. 
The  interworkings  and  counteractions  of  selfish- 
ness would  prevent  that.     Those  who  would  gain 

3 


18 

such  enlightenment  must  first  seek  a  higher  end, 
as  he  who  would  have  all  other  things  added  must 
first  seek  the  kingdom  of  God.  Hence  the  method 
of  the  Bible  is  to  begin  with  the  heart.  Any 
enlargement  of  the  intellect  without  this  it  reckons 
as  nothing.  For  the  guidance  of  a  moral  being  it 
is  nothing.  The  doctrine  of  the  Bible  is,  that  "  he 
that  loveth  his  brother  walketh  in  the  light,"  but 
that  "  he  that  hateth  his  brother  is  in  darkness,  and 
walketh  in  darkness,  and  knoweth  not  whither  he 
qoeth,  because  that  darkness  hath  blinded  his  eyes." 
This  doctrine  the  world  has  yet  to  learn.  A 
general  enlargement  of  intellect  in  any  commu- 
nity can  be  reached  only  by  bringing  to  bear  upon 
the  heart  of  that  community  the  great  motives  of 
Christ's  Gospel. 

I  observe  again,  that  we  may  learn  from  the 
doctrine  of  this  discourse  what  must  be  the  solu- 
tion of  that  problem  which  is  now  convulsing  this 
country,  and  steeping  its  soil  in  the  blood  of  civil 
war. 

In  speaking  of  the  elements  of  that  experiment, 
if  I  may  so  call  it,  that  grand  providential  move- 
ment which  God  is  now  making  in  this  country  for 
the  enlargement  of  men,  I  purposely  omitted  to 
mention  what  may  ultimately  appear  to  be  the 
most  effective  element  of  all,  that  is,  not  the 
people  who  have  come,  but  those  who  have  been 
brought  here.  Under  our  declaration  of  indepen- 
dence, asserting  for  every  man  the  right  to  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  and  under 
institutions  practically,  as  never  before,  maintaining 


19 

that  light,  all,  with  the  exception  of  the  negro, 
have  been  thrown  together,  if  not  without  fear,  yet 
without  favor,  to  work  out  as  they  might  their 
personal  ends ;  and  though  we  have  had  cast  upon 
us  nationalities  so  diverse,  and  have  had  sent  to  us 
the  vicious  and  abandoned  products  of  other  insti- 
tutions and  forms  of  civilization,  and  then  been 
reproached  with  the  results,  yet,  under  the  benefi- 
cent agencies  of  freedom,  with  the  exception  above 
mentioned,  the  processes  of  elevation  and  assimila- 
tion were  working  well.  But  in  the  face  of  our 
public  and  solemn  declaration,  a  declaration  that 
in  our  own  case  we  had  maintained  with  blood, 
here  were  men  endowed  by  God  with  every  natural 
right,  having  in  their  veins  that  "  one  blood  of 
which  God  made  all  nations  for  to  dwell  on  the 
face  of  the  whole  earth,"  who  were  deprived  by 
statute  and  organic  law  of  every  natural  right. 
Thus  aloof  from  the  legitimate  working  of  our 
institutions,  the  negro  element  became,  first  an 
irreducible,  and  then  a  disturbing  element.  It  did 
nothing  positively,  but  was  an  obstruction  that 
showed  itself  at  every  point.  It  was  marvelous 
how  inevitable  it  became  in  every  political,  in  every 
religious  meeting.  Every  body  wished  it  out  of  the 
way,  or  said  they  did,  and  nobody  knew  what  to 
do  with  it.  Here  was  a  call  for  enlargement,  and 
it  was  not  fairly  met.  The  nation  failed  signally, 
and  before  the  world,  to  apply  impartially  its  own 
avowed  principles  ;  and  every  man  knows  that  this 
is  that  cause,  without  which  the  present  civil  war 
could  not  have  been. 


20 

And  now  it  has  not  escaped  the  observation  of 
many,  that  the  point  of  enlargement  to  which 
the  providence  of  God  is  pressing  us  in  this 
war,  is  the  full  recognition  of  the  manhood  of 
the  negro  in  all  his  rights  as  a  man.  This  point, 
as  fully  as  the  laws  of  the  Union  would  allow, 
was  reached  in  this  State,  immediately  after  the 
Revolution.  In  the  eye  of  the  law  the  negro  was 
placed  on  an  equality  with  other  men.  From 
this  no  harm  came,  and  if  this  point  could  be 
reached  throughout  the  whole  country  to-morrow, 
our  troubles  would  cease.  When  the  black  man 
shall  be  permitted  to  go  where  he  pleases,  to  earn 
his  own  honest  living  in  his  own  way,  to  enjoy  all 
the  natural  rights  of  a  man,  and  such  civil  rights 
as  he  is  fitted  for,  the  country  will  be  quiet.  We 
may  not  wish  this  ;  probably  we  should  not  have 
ordered  it  so ;  we  may  struggle  against  it.  But 
this  distinction  of  color  and  of  race  is  from  God  ; 
these  people  are  here  by  his  appointment,  and  we 
are  not  to  narrow  ourselves  by  prejudice,  and  fear 
that  the  heavens  will  fall,  if  we  apply  impartially 
and  fully  those  great  principles  of  natural  right 
which  are  surely  from  God,  and  which  we  have 
avowed  before  the  world.  It  is  these  principles 
that  are  now  in  question,  and  it  is  the  struggle 
between  these  and  their  opposites  that  is  convuls- 
ing, and  is  yet  to  convulse  the  nations. 

It  is  into  that  double  enlargement  of  the  intel- 
lect and  the  heart,  which  has  been  presented  in 
this    Discourse,   that  I  now   invite   you,  my  dear 


21 

Friends  of  the  Graduating  Class,  to  enter  more 
fully.  With  the  enlargement  of  your  sphere  of 
action,  be  ye  also  enlarged.  As  liberally  educated, 
you  are  under  obligation  to  intellectual  enlarge- 
ment. You  owe  it  to  yourselves,  and  to  the  com- 
munity, not  to  lay  aside  your  liberal  studies.  You 
ought  to  do  something  "  for  the  increase  of  knowl- 
edge among  men."  Especially  ought  you  to  have 
that  wide  and  liberal  spirit  which  will  appreciate 
knowledge  of  every  kind,  and  encourage  its  ad- 
vancement. 

But,  as  you  will  have  inferred  already,  my  chief 
desire  is  that  you  should  be  enlarged  in  your  hearts. 
There  has  been  enlargement  of  heart  towards  you. 
You  little  know  how  you  have  been  loved  and 
cared  for  by  parents  and  friends.  There  has  been 
enlargement  on  the  part  of  the  public  in  providing 
for  your  education  ;  there  has  been  enlargement 
towards  you  in  the  hearts  of  your  teachers — there 
has  been  in  my  heart — as  I  have  known  you  more, 
you  have  grown  upon  me — and  now  what  we  ask 
you  is,  "  For  a  recompense  in  the  same."  The 
best  recompense  of  love  is  love  in  return,  and  the 
deeds  which  love  prompts.  What  a  recompense 
that  is  which  you  can  make  to  your  parents  and 
friends  !  How  will  your  parents  rejoice,  how  will 
your  friends,  how  shall  I  rejoice,  to  see  you  giving 
back  love  for  love,  care  for  care,  and  filling  every 
enlarged  sphere  with  an  enlargement  of  intellect 
and  of  heart  like  that  of  the  Apostle  himself. 

For  this  enlargement  there  is  ample  scope  in 
this  world ;  but  in  that  which   is  to   come,  O  the 


22 

illimitable  enlargement  of  which  you  are  capable ! 

0  the  wealth  which  God  has  provided !  The 
wealth  of  this  universe  is  not  in  the  things  that 
may  be  possessed,  though  they  be  gold  and  gems, 
though  they  were  suns  and  systems  ;  nor  yet  in  the 
sciences  that  may  be  known,  though  they  branch 
out  into  infinity ;  but  it  is  in  the  beings  that  may 
be  loved — God  himself  and  his  holy  kingdom. 
Possessions,  knowledge,  are  but  the  pedestal  to  be 
crowned  with  love.  It  is  because  there  is  excel- 
lence to  be  loved  that  heaven  is  possible,  and  the 
possibilities  of  heaven  itself  are  to  be  measured  by 
the  possible  enlargement  of  love.    My  dear  friends, 

1  speak  as  unto  my  children — have  not  I  a  right 
so  to  speak'?     Be  ye  also  enlarged. 

At  this  point,  however,  perhaps  a  caution  is 
needed.  The  enlargement  to  which  I  call  you  is 
not  to  be  confounded  with  what  is  sometimes  called 
liberality.  This  is  a  term  under  which,  with  the 
pretence  of  enlargement,  men  often  cover  indiffer- 
ence to  the  truth,  and,  if  the  truth  be  pressed, 
essential  narrowness  and  even  bitterness.  With 
such  liberality,  the  enlargement  to  which  I  call 
you  has  no  affinity.  It  is  its  opposite.  The  more 
enlargement  there  is,  the  more  vivid  the  apprehen- 
sion will  be  of  the  beauty  of  truth,  and  of  the  dig- 
nity and  excellence  and  unutterable  value  of  right- 
eousness. You  are  called  to  an  enlargement  of 
comprehension  and  of  love  like  that  of  Paul,  with 
a  corresponding  opposition  to  all  fundamental  error 
and  essential  wickedness.  The  enlargement  to 
which  I  call  you  is  that  of  Christianity  itself,  which 


23 

is  at  once  the  most  universal  and  catholic,  and  the 
most  exclusive  of  all  systems.  If  it  had  not  been 
broad  and  catholic,  it  would  not  have  been  fitted 
to  include  all  nations  ;  if  it  had  not  been  exclusive, 
it  would  not  have  revolutionized  the  world  —  it 
would  not  have  had  martyrs.  Christ  himself  would 
not  have  died,  if  there  had  not  been  something  to 
stand  up  for,  and  to  hold  on  to,  with  the  whole 
energy  of  our  being.  What  this  is  we  may  know. 
God  has  not  shut  men  up  to  the  alternative  of  the 
frigidity  and  imbecility  of  indifference  on  the  one 
hand,  or  to  a  narrow  and  fierce  bigotry  on  the 
other.  No  ;  there  is  an  open  Avay  of  enlargement 
in  comprehension,  and  in  the  love  of  God  and  of 
man,  and  in  hating  nothing  that  love  and  right- 
eousness do  not  compel  us  to  hate. 

"With  this  caution,  the  word  that  I  would  leave 
with  you,  that  I  ask  you  to  carry  with  you  through 
life,  is  enlargement  —  enlargement  of  intellect,  en- 
largement of  the  heart,  enlargement  of  the  intel- 
lect through  that  of  the  heart. 

From  this  combination  there  will  naturally,  but 
not  necessarily  follow,  an  enlargement  of  personal 
influence.  To  insure  this  there  must  be  added, 
energy  of  will.  With  that  added,  your  preparation 
for  the  work  of  life  will  be  complete.  Then,  not 
only  will  you  yourselves  grow  by  the  exertion  of 
your  own  activities  in  the  right  direction  —  grow 
to  be  more  like  God,  and  so  more  truly  human  — 
but  in  the  same  proportion  you  will  have  an  influ- 
ence for  good  over  others.  Influence  for  good  over 
others  !     This  is  the  object  of  a  legitimate  ambi- 


24 

tion ;  and  in  this  you  will  find,  what  so  few  have 
found,  the  point  of  coincidence  between  the  high- 
est ambition  and  the  highest  duty. 

And  now,  my  dear  friends,  in  view  of  what  has 
been  done  for  you,  of  what  is  expected  of  you ;  in 
view  of  the  wants  of  your  distracted  and  imperiled 
country,  of  the  wants  of  a  lost  world  ;  in  view  of 
your  capacities,  and  of  the  scope  there  is  for  them 
in  the  infinities  that  surround  you  ;  in  view  of 
the  call  of  God  himself,  and  of  Redeeming  Love, 
I  speak  to  you  as  unto  my  children,  and  I  say  to 
you,  "  Be  ye  also  enlarged." 


CHOICE     AND     SERVICE 


BACCALAUREATE    SERMON, 


DELIVERED    AT 


WILLIAMSTOWN,  MS. 


J  ULY   31,  1864, 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.D 

Pbesident  or  Williams  College. 


$nblis{j*b  bj  |£«puBi  of  tfcr  Class. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &   SON,   42  CONGRESS  STREET. 

NEW  YORK:  SHELDON  &  COMPANY. 

1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


JOSHUA    xxiv.  15. 

CHOOSE    YOU    THIS    DAY    WHOM    YE    WILL    SERVE. 

Probably  Joshua  is  the  most  illustrious  example 
on  record  of  a  great  warrior  who  was  also  a 
thoroughly  religious  man.  Chosen  by  God  to 
bring  Israel  into  the  promised  land,  he  had  under 
him  a  people  trained  as  no  other  had  ever  been. 
With  the  exception  of  Caleb  the  son  of  Jephun- 
neh,  not  a  man  of  them  was  over  sixty  years  old. 
The  faint-hearted  and  the  murmurers  of  a  former 
generation  had  perished,  every  one  of  them,  from 
among  them,  and  the  nation,  instinct  with  one  life 
and  one  purpose,  were  ready  to  follow  their  leader. 
The  faith  of  that  leader  never  faltered,  and  with 
the  single  exception  when  there  was  an  Achan  in 
the  camp,  he  led  them  to  uniform  victory.  Having 
conquered  the  country,  he  divided  to  each  tribe 
its  inheritance,  and  for  a  time  the  land  rested  in 
quiet. 

In  this  quiet  the  Israelites  did  not  relapse  into 
idolatry.  They  remained  steadfast  in  their  alle- 
giance to  God.     That  generation  and  the  succeed- 


ing  one  received  a  higher  testimony  than  any  other 
that  has  been  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  is  said, 
"  And  Israel  served  the  Lord  all  the  days  of 
Joshua,  and  all  the  days  of  the  elders  that  over- 
lived Joshua,  and  which  had  known  all  the  works 
of  the  Lord  that  he  had  done  for  Israel."  Still, 
the  heathen  were  not  entirely  expelled ;  the  Israel- 
ites were  the  descendants  of  those  wrho  had  made 
the  golden  calf  at  the  foot  of  Sinai,  and  as  the  time 
for  his  death  drew  near,  Joshua  desired  to  do  some- 
thing to  guard  the  people  against  that  departure 
from  the  living  God  which  was  the  only  thing  they 
had  to  fear. 

Accordingly  he  "  gathered  all  the  tribes  of  Is- 
rael to  Shechem,  and  called  for  the  elders  of  Israel, 
and  for  their  heads,  and  for  their  officers ;  and 
they  presented  themselves  before  God."  Then  was 
seen  one  of  the  most  solemn  and  imposing  spec- 
tacles in  the  history  of  the  nation.  This  leader, 
whose  success  had  been  so  great,  whose  authority 
had  never,  like  that  of  Moses,  been  questioned, 
now  more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  stood  before 
the  assembled  nation,  and  surrounded  by  its  chief 
men,  recounted  to  them  what  God  had  done  for 
them,  and  required  them  to  choose  deliberately  and 
solemnly  the  service  of  the  God  of  their  fathers ; 
or,  if  they  would  reject  that,  to  choose  whom  they 
would  serve.  The  question  was  to  whom  they 
would  render  supreme  allegiance,  and  that  question 
they  were  then  to  decide.  This  decision  Joshua 
was  careful  should  be  made  only  with  the  fullest 
light.     He  not  only  told  them  what  God  had  done, 


but  also  that  he  was  a  holy  God,  and  the  difficulty 
of  his  service  on  that  account.  They  heard,  they 
understood,  and  decided  that  they  would  serve  the 
Lord.  "  And  the  people  said  unto  Joshua,  Nay, 
but  we  will  serve  the  Lord.'1  That  was  decisive  of 
the  history  of  that  generation.  So  far  as  the  choice 
was  from  the  heart,  it  decided  the  influence  and 
destiny  of  every  individual  during  the  whole  course 
of  his  being. 

In  this  transaction  with  the  Israelites  one  thing 
was  required  and  another  implied.  It  was  required 
that  they  should  choose  their  supreme  object  of 
affection  and  worship  ;  it  was  implied,  that,  having 
chosen,  they  would  serve  him.  The  choice  was  to 
be  made  once  and  forever  ;  the  service  was  to  be 
perpetual,  involving  volitions  and  acts  constantly 
repeated.  In  this  choice  and  these  volitions  the 
radical  character  of  the  Israelites  found  expression  ; 
in  a  similar  choice  and  the  consequent  volitions 
our  character  will  do  the  same,  and  on  these  our 
destiny  will  depend,  Let  us  therefore  look  a  little 
at  these  acts  of  choice  and  of  volition,  as  they  are 
in  themselves ;  as  related  to  each  other ;  and  to 
human  character  and  well-being. 

Taking  then  the  act  of  choice,  I  observe,  in  the 
first  place,  that  we  must  choose. 

There  are  certain  original  and  necessary  forms 
of  activity  through  which  man  knows  himself. 
These  are  commonly  said  to  be  three — thinking, 
feeling,  willing.  In  reality  there  are  four,  think- 
ing, feeling,  choosing,  willing.  These  were  never 
taught  us.     They  are  not  the  product  of  will.    We 


do  not  think  because  we  will  to  think,  or  choose 
because  we  will  to  choose,  any  more  than  we  will 
because  we  will  to  will.  We  think  and  choose  and 
will  by  a  necessity  of  our  nature  immediately  and 
directly  when  the  occasion  arises.  These  forms  of 
activity  we  find  originally  in  us,  and  a  part  of  us  ; 
they  go  back  with  us  to  our  first  remembrance  and 
conception  of  ourselves.  If  man  did  not  find  in 
himself  each  of  these  he  would  not  be  man.  Free 
we  may  be  in  choosing,  but  not  whether  we  will 
choose.  This  is  so  a  condition  of  our  being,  that 
the  very  refusal  to  choose  is  itself  choice. 

And  not  only  must  man  choose,  he  must  also 
choose  an  object  of  supreme  affection.  A  supreme 
object  of  worship,  an  object  of  worship  at  all,  he 
need  not  choose,  but  of  affection  he  must. 

This  belongs  to  the  constitution  of  our  nature. 
If  a  man  were  compelled  to  part  with  the  objects  of 
his  affection  one  by  one,  as  the  master  of  a  vessel 
is  sometimes  obliged  to  throw  overboard  his  cargo, 
it  must  be  that  there  would  be  a  last  thing  to  which 
he  would  cling.  Without  this  our  nature  could 
have  neither  consistency  nor  dignity.  In  this  the 
great  masters  of  thought  agree,  and  through  it  they 
account  for  the  apparent  anomalies  of  human  con- 
duct. 

"  Search  then  the  master  passion — there  alone  ; 
The  wild  are  constant  and  the  cunning  known." 

As  a  river,  if  it  be  a  river,  despite  backwater 
and  eddies,  must  flow  some  whither,  and  as  those 
eddies  and  the  backwater  are  caused  by  the  very 


current  they  seem  to  contradict,  so  must  there  be  in 
man  some  current  of  affection,  bearing  within  its 
sweep  all  others,  and  that  would,  if  known,  recon- 
cile all  seeming  contradictions.  In  this  too  the 
Scriptures  agree.  It  is  only  a  statement  in  another 
form  of  the  great  doctrine  announced  by  our 
Saviour,  that  in  the  moral  sphere  there  can  be 
no  neutrality  and  no  double  service.  "  He  that  is 
not  with  me  is  against  me."  "  Ye  cannot  serve 
God  and  mammon." 

How  far  God  so  reveals  himself  to  each  man  as 
he  did  to  the  Israelites  that  there  must  be  a  distinct 
acceptance  or  rejection  of  him,  he  only  can  know, 
but  every  being  having  a  moral  constitution  must 
be  either  in  harmony  with,  or  in  opposition  to  the 
great  principles  of  his  moral  government,  and  thus 
virtually  either  choose  or  reject  him. 

To  know  what  the  supreme  object  thus  chosen 
and  the  master  passion  is,  is  the  capital  point  in 
that  most  difficult  and  valuable  of  all  knowledge, 
the  knowledge  of  ourselves.  Not  our  capacities 
alone  do  we  need  to  know,  but  the  set  and  force  of 
that  current  within  us  which  is  deepest.  But 
what  the  object  thus  chosen  is,  or  even  that  he 
does  thus  choose,  a  man  may  not  distinctly  state  to 
himself,  and  it  may  come  out  into  clear  conscious- 
ness only  as  he  is  brought  to  a  test.  The  covetous 
man  may  go  on  for  years  amassing  property ;  the 
upas  tree  of  avarice  may  grow  till  every  generous 
affection  is  withered  beneath  it,  and  yet  no  test 
may  have  been  so  applied  as  to  compel  him  to  say 
to  himself,  "  I  am  a  miser."     He  mav  not  even  sus- 


8 

pect  it.  If  told  the  truth  he  may  honestly,  in  one 
sense  honestly,  as  well  as  indignantly  and  reproach- 
fully deny  it,  and  say  with  one  of  old,  "Is  thy 
servant  a  dog  that  he  should  do  this  thing  X "  A 
Christian  may  be  in  doubt  whether  he  loves  God 
supremely.  But  let  persecution  come  and  demand 
his  property,  and  that  will  be  one  test ;  let  it 
demand  his  liberty,  that  will  be  another  ;  let  it 
demand  his  life  to  be  given  up  through  reproach 
and  torture,  and  that  will  be  a  third  and  a  final  test. 
Then  will  there  be  a  felt  ground  of  consistency 
and  of  dignity.  The  ship  will  right  itself  in  the 
storm,  and  with  its  prow  towards  its  haven,  the 
fiercer  the  winds  the  faster  will  it  be  driven  thither. 
But  while  we  are  thus  necessitated  to  choose, 
and  to  choose  an  object  of  supreme  affection,  the 
choice  itself  is  free.  There  is  always  in  it  an 
alternative.  In  this  it  differs  from  all  that  precedes 
it  either  in  nature  or  in  ourselves.  Here  it  is 
indeed  that  we  find  the  birth-place  and  citadel  of 
that  great  element  and  royal  prerogative,  Freedom, 
which  underlies  all  moral  action  and  accounta- 
bility. This  it  is  which  brings  us  into  a  moral  and 
spiritual  sphere  wholly  out  of  and  above  that  of 
mere  nature.  The  sphere  of  nature  has  for  its 
characteristics  uniformity  and  necessity,  but  here  is 
freedom.  This  element  is  typified  indeed,  and 
foreshadowed  in  nature  through  all  her  forms  of 
unconscious  life.  Very  beautiful  it  is  to  see  a 
multiform  life  working  spontaneously  towards  its 
ends.  Wonderful  is  that  selective  power  by  which 
the  root  and  leaf  of  each  vegetable,  and  the  sense 


9 

and  digestive  apparatus  of  each  animal,  appropriate 
that  which  will  build  up  the  life  of  each  and  reject 
all  else.  But  here  is  no  freedom.  And  the  same 
may  be  said  of  all  that  precedes  choice  in  our  own 
life.  We  must  previously  have  knowledge,  but 
we  know  by  necessity.  No  man  can  help  know- 
ing his  own  existence  and  acts  of  consciousness. 
We  must  previously  have  desire.  Hunger  and 
thirst,  the  desire  for  food  and  drink,  are  necessary ; 
and  there  are  hungerings  and  thirstings,  appeten- 
cies and  cravings  so  running  through  our  whole 
nature  that  if  we  do  not  hunger  and  thirst  after 
righteousness  even,  we  cannot  be  filled.  But  here 
too  the  congruities  are  pre-arranged,  and  the  desire 
is  necessary.  As  such  it  has  a  wider  range  than 
choice.  We  desire  many  things  which  we  do  not 
and  cannot  choose.  AVe  desire  wealth,  position, 
power ;  we  may  desire  the  possession  of  the  stars, 
or  of  universal  dominion,  but  we  can  choose  only 
that  which  is  offered  to  our  acceptance.  There  is 
in  choice  appropriation,  and  the  thing  chosen  must 
be  in  such  a  relation  to  us  that  it  may,  in  some 
sense,  become  our  own. 

But  the  peculiarity  of  an  act  of  choice  is  that 
there  is  in  it  an  alternative.  This  belongs  to  its 
definition.  There  is  an  overlooking  of  the  whole 
ground,  a  comparison,  and  a  felt  power  of  turning 
either  way.  We  must  indeed  choose,  but  we  are 
under  no  necessity  of  choosing  any  one  thing. 
When  but  a  single  object  is  offered  us  we  may 
choose  or  reject  it ;  when  two  are  offered  both  of 
which  we  cannot  have,  as  learning  and  ease,  power 
and    quiet,  pleasure    and    virtue,   we   may  choose 

2 


10 

between  them.  Thus,  through  the  whole  range  of 
faculties  which  God  has  given  us,  we  may  choose 
which  shall  be  brought  into  predominant  activity  ; 
and  through  the  whole  range  of  objects  which  he 
has  set  before  us,  including  himself,  we  may 
choose  which  we  will  appropriate  as  the  source  of 
nutriment  to  our  inmost  life. 

In  this  act  of  choice,  having  thus  an  alternative, 
every  man  so  stands  forth  to  his  own  consciousness 
as  free,  that  a  conviction  of  his  freedom  must  cling 
to  that  consciousness  foreverruore.  The  freedom  is 
so  a  part  of  the  act,  and  enters  into  the  very  con- 
ception of  it,  that  men  generally  would  as  soon 
think  of  denying  the  act  itself  as  of  denying  its 
freedom.  No  man  can  honestly  deny  it.  Hence, 
as  being  known  at  once,  and  certainly,  just  as  is 
the  act  itself,  freedom  can  neither  be  proved  nor 
disproved,  but  must  be  accepted  on  the  immediate 
testimony  of  consciousness.  A  man  might  as  well 
deny  the  fact  that  he  exists,  as  to  deny  those  char- 
acteristics of  his  being  which  enter  into  his  con- 
ception of  himself;  and  of  these,  freedom  of  choice 
is  one.  "  We  lay  it  down,"  says  Dr.  Archibald 
Alexander,*  "  as  a  first  principle — from  which  we 
can  no  more  depart  than  from  the  consciousness  of 
existence — that  man  is  free  ;  and  therefore  stand 
ready  to  embrace  whatever  is  fairly  included  in  the 
definition  of  freedom."  Let  the  few  then  impugn 
as  they  may  this  great  element  and  fact  of  freedom, 
they  can  never  lead  the  mass  of  men  to  disbelieve 
it.  They  can  never  really  disbelieve  it  themselves, 
they  can  never  practically  discard  it. 

*  Moral  Science,  page  111. 


11 

And  this  leads  me  to  observe  that  as  freedom 
finds  in  an  act  of  choice  its  cradle,  so  does  it  also 
its  citadel. 

Interfere  with  a  man  in  his  outward  acts,  re- 
strain him  from  passing  the  limits  of  a  town,  shut 
him  up  in  a  prison,  fetter  his  limbs,  and  you  are 
said  to  deprive  him  of  his  freedom.  You  do  in- 
vade it  in  its  outer  sphere,  and  in  the  sense  in 
which  it  is  generally  understood,  but  there  is  still  a 
freedom  which  you  do  not  and  cannot  touch. 
There  is  in  choice  an  activity  of  the  spirit  that 
abides  wholly  within  itself.  It  neither  requires  nor 
admits  of  means,  or  instrumentalities,  or  outward 
agencies.  Hence  no  power,  human  or  divine,  that 
does  not  change  the  essential  nature  of  the  spirit 
itself,  can  reach  the  prerogatives  of  this  power. 
Here  is  the  inner  circle  of  freedom,  its  impreg- 
nable fortress.  Within  this,  man  is  a  crowned 
king.  Here,  though  but  a  beggar,  he  may  retire, 
and  without  his  own  consent,  no  man  can  take  his 
diadem.  Retaining  the  powers  which  make  it 
what  it  is,  nothing  can  prevent  the  spirit  from 
choosing  and  willing,  from  loving  and  hating,  and 
so  nothing  out  of  itself  can  prevent  it  from  being 
loyal  to  duty  and  to  God.  But  while  we  thus 
claim  for  man  full  powers  of  free  agency,  we  also 
assert  the  power  of  God  to  govern  free  agents ; 
and  the  necessity  of  the  Divine  Spirit  to  quicken 
and  regenerate  those  whose  choice  of  evil  is  so 
exclusive  and  intense  that  they  are  "  dead  in  tres- 
passes and  sins." 

We  thus  see  what  choice  is.  But  the  Israelites 
were  not  only  to  choose,  they  were  to  serve.     By 


12 

distinct  and  separate  acts  of  volition,  or  of  will, 
they  were  to  cause  the  choice  thus  made  to  find 
expression  in  all  their  outward  life.  Let  us  then, 
as  was  proposed,  look  at  these  acts  of  volition, 
and  their  relations  to  choice. 

Almost  universally,  and  by  the  leading  philoso- 
phers, as  Kant  and  Hamilton,  choice  and  volition 
have  been  confounded  under  the  common  name  of 
Will.  As  more  immediately  connected  with  action, 
volition  has  been  made  the  more  prominent,  and 
obscurity  and  sad  misapprehension  have  been  the 
result.  But  not  only  are  choice  and  volition,  or 
an  act  of  the  will,  not  the  same,  they  are  totally 
different.     To  this  I  ask  special  attention. 

And  first,  choice  must  precede  volition.  No 
man  can  intelligently  will  an  act  except  with 
reference  to  some  object  previously  chosen. 

Secondly,  choice,  and  not  volition,  is  the  primary 
seat  of  freedom.  In  a  sense  we  are  free  in  our 
volitions.  They  are  wholly  within  ourselves,  they 
require  no  means  or  instrumentalities,  and  no 
earthly  power  can  interfere  with  them ;  but  yet 
they  must  be  in  accordance  with  some  choice  that 
predominates  at  the  time,  and  can  be  changed  only 
by  a  change  of  the  choice.  But  are  not  men  com- 
pelled to  will  what  they  do  not  choose  1  Not 
strictly.  By  force  unjustly  used  they  are  said  to 
be  compelled  to  will  what  they  would  not  but  for 
that,  and  this  is  slavery ;  still  the  will  will  be  in 
accordance  with  the  choice  on  the  whole,  else  a 
man  could  not  become  a  martyr.  A  patriot,  hav- 
ing chosen  as  his  end,  and  with  his  whole  heart, 
the  good  of  his  country,  and  while  thus  choosing, 


13 

cannot  will  acts  in  known  opposition  to  that  good. 
He  may  die,  but  he  cannot  do  that. 

Again,  choice  and  will  respect  different  objects. 
In  strictness,  we  never  choose  what  we  will,  or 
will  what  we  choose.  The  objects  of  choice  are 
persons,  things,  ends.  •  The  object  of  volition  is  an 
act ;  always  an  act.  We  choose  God,  we  choose 
a  friend,  a  house,  a  profession,  an  ultimate  end, 
but  we  do  not  will  these.  To  say  that  we  will  a 
house  would  be  absurd.  We  choose  health,  we 
will  exercise ;  we  choose  learning,  we  will  study  ; 
we  choose  an  apple  that  hangs  with  its  fellows 
upon  the  bending  bough,  we  will  the  act  by  which 
we  pluck  it. 

And  as  the  objects  of  choice  are  different  from 
those  of  volition,  so  are  its  grounds.  We  choose 
the  apple  because  it  is  good ;  we  choose  a  friend 
for  his  intrinsic  qualities  ;  we  choose  an  end  as 
good  in  itself;  we  choose  God  as  infinitely  excel- 
lent in  himself,  and  as  meeting  through  that  ex- 
cellency every  capacity  of  our  rational  being. 

Always  Ave  choose  an  object  for  something  in 
itself — some  beauty,  some  utility,  some  grace,  some 
excellence,  by  which  it  awakens  emotion  or  desire, 
and  comes  into  some  relation  to  our  well-being1. 
But  an  action  we  never  will  for  any  thing  in  itself, 
but  only  as  it  is  related  to  an  end.  An  action 
tending  to  no  end  would  be  a  folly,  and  one  ab- 
stractly right  without  reference  to  an  end,  is  incon- 
ceivable. We  do  indeed  will  actions  as  right,  but 
we  mean  by  that,  sometimes  simply  their  fitness  to 
gain  an  end,  and  sometimes,  also,  that  the  end  is 
good.     If  the  end  be  good,  and  be  chosen  because 


14 

it  is  good,  the  action  will  be  morally  right ;  if  not, 
it  will  be  right  simply  from  its  relation  to  the  end. 
An  act  of  choice  is  itself  right  when  the  true  end 
for  man  is  chosen,  and  the  choice  is  made,  not 
merely  because  it  is  right,  but,  as  all  choice  must 
be,  in  view  of  some  good  in  the  end.  Universally, 
then,  it  is  true  that  we  choose  objects  and  ends 
because  they  are  good,  and  will  actions  because 
they  tend  to  secure  such  objects  and  ends. 

Once  more,  in  choice  man  is  not  executive,  in 
volition  he  is. 

We  think,  feel,  choose,  and  though  active  in 
these,  are  not  conscious  of  putting  forth  energy. 
Every  one  knows  the  difference  between  a  mere 
choice,  or  even  purpose,  and  that  putting  forth  of 
energy,  by  which  we  attempt  to  realize  our  pur- 
pose. This  gives  a  new  element.  Before,  the  man 
was  contemplative,  choosing  an  end,  maturing 
plans  ;  now  he  is  executive,  working  for  an  end. 
Choice  and  purpose  are  known  in  themselves, 
volition  by  its  effects,  and  what  these  may  be, 
experience  only  can  reveal. 

Thus  at  all  points  do  we  find  a  difference  be- 
tween choosing  and  serving,  that  is,  of  willing. 
Choice  is  primary — volition  secondary ;  choice  is 
directly  free — volition  indirectly ;  choice  respects 
persons,  objects,  ends — volition  acts  ;  choice  is  not 
executive — volition  is  ;  choice  too  has  the  common 
relation  of  source  to  both  willing  and  loving ; 
volition  is  not  a  source  at  all ;  choice  fixes  on 
ultimate  ends  and  absolute  value,  which  is  a  good 
and  not  a  utility.  The  very  idea  of  utility  is  ex- 
cluded   from    this    sphere.     A    System   of  Morals 


15 

based  on  the  choice  of  a  supreme  end  as  good  in 
itself,  cannot  be  one  of  utility.  In  choosing  the 
supreme  end  appointed  by  God  for  the  good  there 
is  in  it,  there  can  be  no  undue  reference  to  self. 
If  this  had  been  seen,  much  misapprehension  would 
have  been  saved.  Ultimate  ends  we  choose  for  the 
sake  of  an  absolute  value ;  a  utility  is  a  relative 
value.  It  belongs  to  means  and  instrumentalities, 
to  volitions  and  acts  as  related  to  ends. 

We  have  now  considered  choice  and  volition  as 
they  are  in  themselves,  and  as  related  to  each 
other.  If  any  one  should  say  that  these  points  are 
too  elementary,  or,  if  you  please,  metaphysical,  for 
an  occasion  like  this,  I  should  agree  with  him  if 
their  connection  were  less  vital  with  human  char- 
acter and  well  being.  That  connection  it  remains 
for  us  to  consider. 

And  first,  I  observe  that  choice,  free  as  we  have 
seen  it  to  be,  is  the  radical  element  in  rational  love. 
In  this  is  the  difference  between  rational  and  instinc- 
tive love.  I  know  that  mere  emotion  has  stolen 
the  name  of  love,  and  that  the  impulsive  affections 
have  been  made  identical  with  the  heart.  I  know 
that  there  are  affinities,  and  attractions,  and  a  mag- 
netism between  persons  as  well  as  things,  that 
there  are  subtle  and  inexplicable  influences  by 
which  individuals  are  strangely  drawn  together, 
and  that  under  the  domination  of  these  they  think 
they  love.  And  so  they  may  ;  but  not  from  these 
alone.  So  long  as  attractions  are  balanced  by 
defects  of  character,  or  incongruities  of  temper, 
so  long  as  there  is  a  parleying  between  the  better 


16 

judgment  and  the  feelings,  and  while  as  yet  there 
is  no  ratifying  choice,  there  is  no  rational  love. 
Let  this  choice  be  withheld,  and  however  emotion 
may  eddy  and  surge,  it  is  not  love,  and  in  time  it 
will  die  away.  But  when  the  deliberate  and  full 
choice  is  made,  the  heart  is  given.  Then  objec- 
tions become  impertinent,  imperfections  disappear, 
and  the  full  tide  of  emotion  flows  on,  tranquil,  it 
may  be,  but  deepening  and  widening.  Choice  is 
not  emotion,  nor  a  part  of  it,  but  it  opens  and 
shuts  the  gate  for  its  flow.  It  is  the  personality 
determining  where  it  shall  bestow  those  affections 
that  are  its  life.  It  is  the  nucleus  of  a  train  that 
sets  the  spiritual  heavens  aglow.  Emotion  fluctu- 
ates ;  it  comes  and  goes  with  times  and  moods  and 
health,  but  love  is  constant,  and  this  is  the  constant 
part  of  love.  It  is  principle  as  opposed  to  emotion. 
In  these  two — choice  and  emotion — it  is  that  we 
find  what  is  called  in  Scripture  "  the  heart." 
"  His  heart  is  fixed,"  says  the  Psalmist.  There  is 
the  choice  and  the  principle.  "  Trusting  in  the 
Lord  ;  "  there  is  the  emotion.  The  heart  is  not 
the  affections  regarded  simply  as  emotion ;  it  is  not 
the  will  except  as  will  and  choice  are  confounded. 
It  is  the  affections,  including  choice ;  born  of 
choice  and  nurtured  by  it.  Hence,  under  moral 
government  the  heart  may  be  rightly  subjected, 
not  only  as  emotion,  to  indirect  regulation,  but  as 
choice,  to  direct  and  positive  command.  For  God 
to  say,  "  My  son,  give  me  thy  heart,"  is  wholly 
within  his  prerogative  as  a  righteous  moral  Gov- 
ernor. This  is  a  point  of  the  utmost  moment,  and 
often  but  imperfectly  apprehended. 


17 

Again,  if  choice  be  thus  an  element  of  love,  I 
need  hardly  say  that  it  must  determine  character. 

This  follows  because  the  character  is  as  the  par- 
amount love.  If  this  be  of  money,  the  man  is  a 
miser,  if  of  power,  he  is  ambitious,  if  of  God,  he 
is  a  religious  man.  It  is  said  by  some  that  char- 
acter depends  on  the  governing  purpose.  It  does 
proximately,  but  purpose  depends  upon  choice. 
We  first  choose,  then  purpose.  On  this  too  de- 
pends disposition,  so  far  as  it  is  moral.  A  supreme 
choice  is  the  permanent  disposing  by  a  man  of 
himself,  in  a  given  direction.  This  is  the  trunk  of 
that  tree  spoken  of  by  our  Saviour,  when  he  said, 
"  Make  the  tree  good,  and  his  fruit  will  be  good." 
From  this  will  flow  a  sap  that  will  reach  the 
remotest  twig  and  leaf  of  outward  expression,  and 
give  its  flavor  to  every  particle  of  the  fruit.  Such 
a  choice  will  determine  not  only  the  disposition, 
but  the  subjects  of  thought,  the  habits  of  associa- 
tion, the  whole  furniture  of  the  mind.  Hence 
those  expressions  of  the  Bible,  "  the  thoughts  of 
the  heart,"  "  the  imaginations  of  the  heart,"  are 
perfectly  philosophical.  Thoughts,  imaginations, 
fancies,  castle-buildings,  take  their  whole  body  and 
form  from  those  choices  and  affections  which  are 
the  heart.  These  come  and  go,  but  they  swarm 
out  as  bees  from  the  home  of  the  affections,  and 
there  they  settle  again.  So  it  is  that  "  out  of  the 
heart  proceed  evil  thoughts,  murders,  adulteries, 
fornications,  thefts,  false  witness,  blasphemies ;  " 
and  so  it  is  that  "  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life." 
But  it  is  in  these,  as  thus  springing  from  the 
heart,  that  character  is  expressed,  and  hence  it  is 


18 

that  the  heart,  having  its  nucleus  and  salient  point 
in  choice,  is  the  character. 

But  if  character  thus  depends  upon  choice,  then 
the  connection  of  choice  with  human  well  being 
opens  at  once  upon  us.  Under  a  moral  govern- 
ment— and  if  we  are  not  under  that  we  can  have 
no  hope  of  any  thing — if  we  are  not  under  that 
there  is  no  God — under  a  moral  government  char- 
acter and  destiny  must  correspond.  Whatever  ap- 
parent and  temporary  discrepancies  there  may  be, 
ultimately  they  must  correspond.  That  they  should 
do  this  enters  into  the  very  conception  of  moral 
government.  Settle  it  therefore,  I  pray  you,  my 
hearers,  once  and  forever,  that  as  your  character  is, 
so  will  your  destiny  be.  Whatever  capacities  there 
may  be  for  enjoyment  or  for  suffering  in  this  strange 
being  of  ours,  and  God  only  knows  what  they  are, 
they  will  be  drawn  out  wholly  in  accordance  with 
character.  There  shall  be  no  inheritance  of  pos- 
sessions, or  felicity  of  outward  condition,  no  river 
of  life,  or  gate  of  pearl,  or  street  of  gold,  there  shall 
be  no  serenity  of  peace,  or  fullness  of  joy,  or  height 
of  rapture,  or  ecstacy  of  love ;  there  shall  be  no 
hostile  and  vengeful  element,  no  lake  of  fire,  no 
gnawing  worm,  no  remorse  or  despair,  that  will 
not  depend  upon  character.  It  is  by  their  bearing 
upon  this  that  we  are  to  test  every  claim  made  upon 
us  in  the  name  of  religion  for  outward  observance 
and  self-denial ;  and  we  are  to  sweep  away  as  super- 
stitions all  forms  and  observances  that  do  not  tend 
to  the  purification  and  elevation  of  character,  be- 
cause it  is  this  alone  that  bears  upon  destiny. 
This  is  destiny. 


19 

We  thus  see  the  amazing  import  and  reponsi- 

bility  attached  to  this  prerogative  of  choice.  As 
we  are  active  and  practical  it  is  the  one  distinguish- 
ing prerogative  of  our  being.  Entering  into  it,  not 
as  that  which  we  may  do,  but  as  that  which  we 
must  do,  it  is  so  a  part  of  our  being  that  it  cannot 
be  separated  from  us,  and  that  its  responsibility 
cannot  be  shared  by  another.  It  is  that  by  which 
we  make  ourselves  known  for  what  we  are.  It  is 
by  choice  only  that  our  proper  personality,  our 
self,  acts  back  upon  the  forces  that  act  upon  us. 
As  an  original  primitive  act,  admitting  no  use 
of  means,  it  requires  no  one  to  teach  us  how  to 
choose ;  no  one  can  teach  us.  If  I  am  required  to 
kindle  a  fire  I  can  be  taught  how,  because  means 
must  be  used,  and  there  must  be  a  process ;  but  I 
must  think  and  choose  before  I  can  be  taught  how. 
As  a  moral  act  the  results  of  choice  are  immedi- 
ate and  inevitable  because  it  is  in  that  that  morality 
is.  Outward  results  and  general  consequences  will 
depend  on  powers  and  agencies  out  of  ourselves, 
but  this  is  wholly  between  man  and  his  God,  and 
reacts  upon  the  soul  leaving  its  own  impress  forever. 
To  that  impress  all  things  outward  will  come  to 
correspond,  and  thus  it  is  that  man  decides  his  own 
destiny.  His  destiny  is  as  his  choice,  and  his  choice 
is  his  own.  In  this,  not  alone  in  immortality — 
immortality  without  this  would  be  but  the  duration 
of  a  thing — in  this,  crowned  by  immortality,  is  the 
grandeur  of  our  being.  All  below  us  is  driven  to 
an  end  which  it  did  not  choose,  by  forces  which  it 
cannot  control.  But  for  us  there  are  moments,  O, 
how  solemn,  when  destiny  trembles  in  the  balance. 


20 

and  the  preponderance  of  either  scale  is  by  our  own 
choice.  Do  you  deny  this,  ye  who  speak  of  the 
littleness  and  weakness  of  man,  and  of  the  power  of 
circumstances  1  Ye  who  scoff  at  freedom,  and  sneer 
at  human  dignity,  and  mock  at  the  strivings  of  a 
poor  insect  limited  on  all  sides,  and  swept  on  by 
infinite  forces,  do  ye  deny  this  1  Then  do  you  deny 
that  man  is  made  in  the  image  of  God.  You  deny 
that  he  can  serve  him.  You  destroy  the  paternal 
relation  of  the  Godhead,  you  blot  out  a  brighter 
sun  than  that  which  rules  these  visible  heavens. 
If  God  is  to  be  served  it  must  be  by  a  free  choice  ; 
by  a  free  choice  it  must  be  if  his  service  is  to  be 
rejected.  Other  service  would  do  him  no  honor, 
other  rejection  would  involve  no  guilt.  Feeble  as 
man  is,  and  we  admit  his  feebleness  ;  limited  as  he 
is,  and  we  admit  the  limitation,  it  has  yet  pleased 
God  to  endow  him  with  the  prerogative  of  choosing 
or  rejecting  Him  and  his  service.  Therefore  do  I 
call  upon  you,  my  hearers,  every  one  of  you,  to 
choose  this  day  whom  you  will  serve.  I  call  upon 
vou  to  choose  God,  the  God  in  whom  you  live  and 
move  and  have  your  being,  the  God  who  has  made 
you,  and  redeemed  you,  and  would  sanctify  you. 
Him  I  call  upon  you  to  choose  and  to  serve  as  that 
service  is  revealed  in  the  Gospel  of  his  Son.  "  If 
the  Lord  be  God,  follow  Him,  and  if  Baal,  then 
follow  him." 

Upon  all  who  hear  me  the  call  now  made  is  most 
urgent ;  but  for  you,  my  Beloved  Friends  of  the 
Graduating  Class,  the  words  "  this  day "  have  a 
peculiar  emphasis.     You   have   now   reached  the 


21 

point  towards  which  the  thoughts,  the  plans,  the 
efforts  of  long  years  have  converged,  and  from 
which  your  influence  is  to  radiate  into  the  future. 
To  bring  you  to  this  point  parents  have  labored 
and  prayed ;  as  you  have  moved  towards  it  you 
have  been  followed  by  the  hopes  and  inquiries  of 
friends.  For  this,  and  scenes  like  this,  Colleges 
have  been  built,  the  wisdom  of  the  past  has  been 
garnered,  and  instructors  have  toiled.  Nor  have 
you  been  wanting.  Without  your  co-operation  all 
else  had  been  vain,  and  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  testify 
to  the  heartiness  and  kindly  spirit  with  which  you 
have  so  given  yourselves  to  the  work  that  the  labors 
of  your  instructors  have  not  been  simply  for  you, 
but  with  you.  Nor,  in  looking  at  the  past  as  pre- 
paratory for  this  hour,  can  we  fail  to  remember  the 
special  favor  of  Him  without  whose  blessing  noth- 
ing can  prosper.  You  will  go  out  from  sacred 
scenes  which  you  can  never  forget.  God  has  come 
to  you  by  his  Spirit,  and  led  many,  we  trust  the 
most  of  you,  to  choose  Him  and  his  service.  For 
this  we  render  everlasting  thanks.  In  this  respect 
you  are  before  him  to-day  as  the  Israelites  of  old, 
who  had  chosen  God,  but  were  called  on  to  renew 
and  ratify  their  choice.  And  standing  where  you 
do  it  is  fitting  that  you  should  be  called  upon  this 
day,  all  of  you,  whoever,  or  whatever  you  have 
chosen,  solemnly  to  review  your  choice.  If  any  of 
you  have  chosen  God  and  his  service,  I  call  upon 
you  to  renew  and  ratify  that  choice.  If  any  of  you 
have  not  chosen  Him,  I  call  upon  you  as  my  last 
instruction  and  advice,  and  in  view  of  eternal  sanc- 
tions, to  choose  Him  this  day. 


22 

Choice  and  service — these  were  demanded  of  the 
Israelites,  these  are  demanded  of  you ;  these  only. 
Choice  and  service — in  these  are  the  whole  of  life, 
and  heeding  practically  the  characteristics  belong- 
ing to  each,  your  life  must  be  a  success. 

To  choice  belongs  wisdom.  Here,  indeed,  and 
in  the  choice  of  ends  rather  than  of  means,  is  the 
chief  sphere  of  wisdom.  The  whole  of  wisdom  is 
in  the  choice  and  pursuit  of  the  best  ends  by  the 
best  methods  and  means.  But  in  the  choice  of 
methods  and  means  to  secure  their  ends  "  the  chil- 
dren of  this  world  are  often  wiser  in  their  genera- 
tion than  the  children  of  light."  The  difference  is 
in  their  choice  of  ends.  The  ends  of  the  children 
of  this  world  are  madness,  and  this,  in  the  eye  and 
language  of  the  Bible  stamps  them  as  fools. 

But  while  wisdom  belongs  to  choice,  to  service 
belong  energy  and  firmness  tempered  by  skill. 
You  will  be  careful  here  not  to  mistake  for  energy 
a  prevalent  reckless  and  boastful  tendency  to  "  go 
ahead,"  or  for  firmness,  a  dogged  obstinacy  without 
candor.  Indiscriminate  antagonism  is  easy.  De- 
nunciation, indignant  or  sarcastic,  coarse  denuncia- 
tion mistaking  elegance  for  sin,  is  easy.  By  these 
a  reputation  as  a  reformer  may  be  cheaply  gained. 
But  to  be  energetic  and  firm  where  principle  de- 
mands it,  and  tolerant  in  all  else/ is  not  easy.  It  is 
not  easy  to  abhor  wickedness  and  oppose  it  with 
every  energy,  and  at  the  same  time  to  have  the 
meekness  and  gentleness  of  Christ,  becoming  all 
things  to  all  men  for  the  truth's  sake.  The  energy 
of  patience,  the  most  godlike  of  all,  is  not  easy. 

But  while  energy  is  to  be  tempered,  it  must  still 


23 

be  energy,  and,  service  being  wisely  chosen,  failure 
in  this  is  your  chief  danger.  It  is  one  thing  to 
make  a  choice  and  adopt  a  principle,  another  to 
carry  it  out  fully,  wholly,  entirely,  giving  it  all  its 
scope.  It  is  one  thing  to  say,  and  to  believe  that 
"  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal,"  and  another 
to  give  to  four  millions  of  slaves  all  their  rights. 
Here,  I  repeat  it,  is  your  danger.  Here  it  was  that 
the  Israelites  failed.  Their  choice  was  right ;  their 
resolution  was  good ;  they  promised  well,  but  they 
failed  to  take  full  possession  of  the  promised  land. 
Will  you  fail  "  after  the  same  example  "  1  Before 
you,  as  there  was  before  them,  there  is  a  promised 
land ;  shall  I  not  say  there  are  promised  lands,  to 
be  possessed?  There  is  outward  prosperity  and 
honor ;  there  is  the  inward  peace  that  comes  from 
well-doing;  there  is  a  country  to  be  made  united, 
peaceful,  prosperous,  free,  wholly  free ;  there  is 
that  better  time  coming  for  which  the  whole  world 
waits  ;  there  is,  above  all,  a  promised  land  beyond 
the  dark  river.  All  these  are  a  promised  land  to 
you,  and  wait  with  more  or  less  of  dependence  on 
your  wisdom  and  energy.  They  are  no  illusions. 
Bright  as  any  or  all  of  them,  except  the  first ;  may 
seem  to  you  to-day,  if  you  do  your  part,  the  reality 
will  be  brighter.  Always  the  realities  of  God  tran- 
scend the  imaginations  of  man.  "  Eye  hath  not 
seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the 
heart  of  man  the  things  that  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  him." 

For  these  things  you  go  forth  to  labor.  You  go, 
but  not  all  who  began  the  year  with  you.  One 
there  was,  beloved  of  us,  a  child  of  many  prayers 


24 

and  hopes,  who  heard  the  call  of  his  country,  and 
felt  that  these  peaceful  scenes  were  no  longer  for 
him.  He  went  hoping  to  return  when  the  war 
should  be  over,  and  complete  his  course.  He  went 
offering  himself  freely  on  the  altar  of  patriotism,  of 
human  rights,  of  universal  liberty.  We  followed 
him ;  we  saw  his  form  enter  into  the  smoke  of  bat- 
tle. We  saw  him  fall,  the  paleness  of  seeming 
death  spreading  over  his  countenance ;  and  then 
the  vail  was  dropped  that  has  not  been  lifted.  He, 
and  the  cause  for  which  he  fell,  are  in  the  hands 
of  God,  and  if  it  be  his  will  that  the  name  of 
Lieutenant  Edward  Payson  Hopkins  be  added  to 
those  of  the  victims  of  this  rebellion,  his  will  be  done. 
But  for  the  cause  for  which  he  fell,  and  for  all 
good  causes,  you  remain  on  the  earth  to  labor. 
For  you  there  remains  the  opportunity  of  choice 
and  of  service,  of  wisdom,  and  of  energy.  Wisdom 
and  energy — this  is  the  watch-word  that  I  would 
give  you  as  you  go  down  into  the  battle.  Do  any 
of  you  say,  we  have  not  wisdom  X  I  say  to  you, 
"  If  any  man  lack  wisdom  let  him  ask  of  God  that 
giveth  to  all  men  liberally  and  upbraideth  not,  and 
it  shall  be  given  him."  Do  you  say,  we  have  not 
strength  ?  I  say  to  you,  "  Lo  He  is  strong,"  and 
"  underneath  are  the  everlasting  arms."  Guided  by 
his  wisdom,  strong  in  his  strength,  there  may  yet 
be  for  you  struggle  and  suffering,  the  darkness  and 
the  storm.  "  The  disciple  is  not  above  his  Master." 
There  may  be  weeping  that  shall  endure  for  a  night, 
but  joy  shall  come  in  the  morning.  If  the  night 
cometh,  so  also  the  morning,  "  a  morning  without 
clouds,"  the  morning  of  an  eternal  day. 


AN 


ADDRESS, 


DELIVERED   IN  BOSTON,   MAY  26,    1852, 


BEFORE    THE 


Society  for  %  promotion  of  (ffollqjiate  ana  ("Theological 
(gaucatton  at  %  lUest. 


BY  MARK  HOPKINS,  D.  D. 


BOS  TON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1852. 


Boston,  May  27,  1852. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  am  instructed  by  the  Boston  Directors  of  the  Society  for  the  Pro- 
motion of  Collegiate  and  Theological  Education  at  the  West, — acting  in 
behalf  of  the  whole  Board, — to  present  to  you  their  thanks  for  your  very 
able,  eloquent  and  acceptable  Address  delivered  before  the  Society  which 
they  represent,  at  their  meeting  in  this  city  yesterday, — and  to  request  of 
you  a  copy  for  publication. 

Very  respectfully  and  truly, 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

S.  H.  WALLEY. 
Bev.  M.  Hopkins,  D.  D. 


Williams  College,  May  29,  1852. 
Dear  Sir, 

It  gives  me  pleasure  to  know  that  the  Address  before  the  Society  for 
the  Promotion  of  Collegiate  and  Theological  Education  at  the  West,  was 
acceptable  to  the  Directors.  If  they  think  its  publication  will  promote  the 
good  work  in  which  they  are  engaged,  it  is  at  their  service. 

With  great  respect  and  regard,  yours, 

MARK  HOPKINS. 
Hon.  S.  H.  Wallky. 


ADDRESS. 


Christianity  is  God's  method  of  restoring  man  to  his 
lost  manhood.  This  consists  chiefly,  indeed,  in  the  image 
of  God,  for  "in  the  image  of  God  created  he  him  ;  "  but 
there  is  no  attribute  of  a  true  humanity  which  Chris- 
tianity will  not  quicken  and  ultimately  make  perfect.  It 
is  an  evidence  of  the  truth  of  our  religion,  that  no  man 
can  become  more  of  a  Christian,  without,  at  the  same 
time,  becoming  more  of  a  man.  The  Author  and.  first 
Minister  of  this  religion  was  a  perfect  man.  He  was 
perfect,  not  merely  as  sinless,  but  in  his  sympathy  with 
all  God's  works,  and  in  the  perfection  and  balance  of  his 
faculties  ;  and  what  the  church  needs,  what  she  is  to 
labor  and  pray  for,  is  a  ministry  as  nearly  as  possible 
like  him. 

Such  a  ministry  it  is  the  object  of  this  Society  to  fur- 
nish. It  is  not  a  College  Society,  for  the  sake  of  Colleges 
as  a  means  of  general  education.  Not  for  that,  important 
as  it  is,  does  it  occupy  the  pulpit  on  the  Sabbath.  It 
would,  indeed,  strengthen  all  those  affiliated  influences, 
from  the  common  school  upwards,  in  connection  with 
which  the  church  is  best  sustained  ;  but  it  has  to  do  with 
Colleges  only  as  it  can  inscribe  upon  them,  as  our  fathers 
did  upon  Harvard,  "  Christo  et  Ecclesias  ;  "  only  as  they 
can  be  made  the  most  efficient  instruments  in  raising  up 
such  men  as  the  church  needs. 


4 

But  what  men  the  church  needs,  and  of  course  the 
education  they  should  receive,  will  depend  on  the  func- 
tions they  are  to  perform,  and  the  relations  they  are  to 
sustain  to  the  people.  If  they  are  to  be  a  hierarchy,  sep- 
arated from  the  people  by  dress,  by  manner,  by  the  pre- 
rogatives of  a  transmitted  sanctity,  with  subordinate 
ranks,  so  constituted  as  to  furnish  within  itself  objects 
of  cupidity  and  ambition,  and,  either  by  itself  or  in  con- 
nection with  the  temporal  power,  seeking  its  own  wealth 
and  aggrandizement,  then  there  will  be  needed,  and  will 
be  among  them,  some  men  of  high  talent  and  the  most 
finished  education.  These  will  generally  do,  in  sub- 
stance, under  the  garb  of  religion,  just  what  is  done  by 
the  leaders  in  civil  and  military  affairs  ;  but  the  mass  will 
receive,  as  in  the  papal  church,  but  a  narrow,  technical, 
monkish  education,  fitting  them  for  subordinate  places  in 
the  order.  They  will  be  educated  as  ecclesiastics,  and  not 
as  men  ;  for  the  good  of  the  order,  and  not  of  mankind. 
They  will  become  both  agents  and  instruments  in  a  sys- 
tem of  education,  which  will  be  at  once  an  engine  of  a 
selfish  ambition  and  of  popular  degradation.  If  such  is 
to  be  the  general  type  and  attitude  of  the  ministry,  it 
is  clear  that  clerical  and  popular  education  can  never 
coalesce. 

But  such  is  not  the  ministry  which  the  church  needs. 
She  needs  an  order  of  men  who  will  devote  themselves, 
in  sympathy  with  Christ,  to  the  elevation  and  salvation 
of  the  race.  They  are  to  have  no  separate  interests,  as  a 
class.  They  are  to  be  of  the  people,  and  with  them,  and 
for  them.  Adopting  no  narrow  sectarianism,  but  Chris- 
tianity, as  God's  method,  and  the  only  one,  of  elevating 
men,  they  must  seek  to  apply  that  as  teachers  and  leaders. 
As  the  method  reaches  that  which  is  deepest  and  most 
peculiarly  human  in  man,  it  may  and  ought  to  embrace, 
and  subordinate  to  itself,  every  legitimate  form  of  human 
culture. 


If  ministers  are  to  make  the  people  in  the  highest 
sense  men,  they  must  themselves  be  such  men  ;  and  the 
education  best  fitted  to  make  a  minister,  will  be  that 
which  is  best  fitted  to  make  such  a  man  ;  it  will  be  that 
which  will  bring  him  most  fully  into  sympathy  with  God, 
as  revealed  not  only  in  his  word,  but  in  all  his  works,  and 
also  with  a  true  humanity.  He  will  need  no  culture 
which  will  separate  him,  by  refinement  and  fastidiousness, 
from  the  humblest  and  most  ignorant;  he  will  need  one 
which  will  put  him  in  sympathy  with  the  most  refined 
and  intelligent.  He  will,  in  short,  need,  not  so  much  an 
education  that  is  technical  and  professional,  as  one  that 
is  broad  and  liberal,  an  education  for  man  as  man. 

Perhaps  our  Fathers  did  not  state  this  in  terms,  but  it 
was  a  perception  of  it  that  led  them,  in  founding  what 
they  called  "  Schools  of  the  Prophets,"  to  found  institu- 
tions, furnishing  for  all  the  most  generous  and  liberal  cul- 
ture which  the  times  could  afford.  Surprise  has  been 
expressed  that  an  institution,  adapted  as  Harvard  was,  to 
all,  should  have  been  founded  with  primary  reference  to 
the  education  of  the  ministry  ;  and  that  it  should  have 
been  called,  for  more  than  a  century,  the  "  School  of  the 
Prophets."  But  we  may  here  find  an  explanation  of  that 
fact.  It  arose  from  a  comprehension,  by  men  who  have 
been  sometimes  called  narrow  and  bigoted,  of  the  true 
position  of  the  ministry,  and  of  the  relation  of  Chris- 
tianity to  every  thing  that  can  exalt  and  ennoble  man. 
The  Fathers  of  the  Puritan  church  said,  that  those  who 
were  to  teach  them,  should  themselves  be  taught ;  that 
the  church  should  have,  for  the  education  of  her  ministers 
primarily,  but  also  for  all  her  sons,  institutions  at  once 
Christian  and  liberal.  Such  institutions  she  founded  and 
has  sustained.  And  what  the  Fathers  said,  we  say.  We 
say  that  the  church  must  and  will  have,  for  her  sons, 
institutions  of  the  highest  order,  which  she  can  feel  to  be 
Christian    institutions,  and   to    which  she  can  give  her 


sympathies  and  her  prayers.  We  insist,  too,  that  the 
union  of  religion  with  all  knowledge  is  as  essential  to  the 
healthy  life  of  a  free  state  as  to  that  of  the  church  ;  and 
hence,  that  the  founding  and  sustaining  of  such  institu- 
tions is  the  duty  of  both. 

But  what  the  Fathers  did  for  New  England,  this  Soci- 
ety would  do  for  the  West.  With  such  modifications  as 
a  sound  discretion  would  dictate,  it  would  transplant  the 
New  England  College  to  the  western  prairie,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  raising  up  there  a  Christian  ministry.  This  the 
church  might  do  from  her  own  resources.  If  it  were  the 
only  way  of  obtaining  a  suitable  ministry,  she  ought  to  do 
it.  But  if  in  doing  this,  she  will  provide  an  indispensable 
link  in  that  chain  of  educational  instrumentalities,  which 
are  at  once  the  strength  and  glory  of  a  free  people,  then 
patriotism  may  be  appealed  to  as  well  as  piety,  and  the 
object  is  one  in  which  the  whole  country  is  directly  inter- 
ested. 

The  question  then  arises,  whether  the  New  England 
College,  transplanted,  and  perhaps  modified,  would  be,  in 
its  place,  the  best  agency  that  could  be  devised,  in  such  a 
system  of  general  education  as  a  great  and  free  people  ought 
to  have.  This  opens  a  field  so  wide  that  we  can  scarcely 
enter  upon  it ;  but  it  is  clear  that  this  Society  can  legiti- 
mate itself  most  fully,  and  find  its  most  triumphant  vindi- 
cation, only  in  the  establishment  of  this  general  position. 

It  was  said  by  Dr.  Johnson,  that  education  was  as  well 
known  in  his  day,  and  had  long  been  as  well  known,  as  it 
ever  could  be;  and  in  this  country  the  same  self-compla- 
cent opinion  formerly  prevailed.  But  now,  the  waters 
have  come  up  into  these  channels  of  discussion  that  were 
dry  ;  and  it  is  only  the  most  solid  structures  that  are  not 
afloat.  In  some  of  the  States,  the  whole  system  of  Common 
Schools  has  been  revised,  and  an  attempt  made,  we  hope 
a  successful  one,  to  introduce  new  methods  of  instruction, 
and  to  place  them  on  higher  ground.  In  the  opinion  of 
some,  the    whole    system   of  Academies  is    wrong,  and 


should  be  displaced  by  High  Schools  for  towns  ;  and 
there  are  those  who  think  that  the  College  system  should 
be  abandoned.  They  regard  it,  if  not  positively  injurious, 
yet  as  antiquated  and  narrow,  and  not  furnishing  the 
education  demanded  by  the  times.  In  this  diversity  of 
opinion,  and  especially  where  the  foundations  are  to  be 
laid  in  new  States,  it  may  be  well  to  inquire  whether 
there  are  any  points  respecting  a  collegiate  education  con- 
cerning which  we  may  hope  for  a  general  agreement,  and 
also,  incidentally,  where  the  points  of  divergence  will  arise. 

And  first,  I  think  it  will  be  generally  agreed,  that  the 
country  needs  provision  for  a  system  of  liberal  education. 
By  a  liberal  education,  I  mean  that  which  has  for  its 
object  the  symmetrical  expansion,  and  the  discipline  of 
the  human  powers, — the  cultivation  of  man  as  man.  By 
the  expansion  of  the  powers,  we  give  them  strength  ;  by 
their  symmetrical  expansion,  we  give  them  balance ;  and 
by  discipline,  we  give  the  man  control  over  them.  If  we 
can  do  these  three  things,  we  shall  have  such  men  as  are 
needed, — strong  men,  with  well-balanced  powers,  fully 
subject  to  their  own  control.  Such  an  education  is 
distinguished  from  a  professional,  and  what  some  would 
call  a  practical  one,  by  the  fact  that  knowledge  and  power 
are  gained  without  reference  to  any  specific  end  to  which 
they  are  to  be  applied. 

That  provision  for  such  an  education  is  needed  is  obvi- 
ous, because  it  meets  one  of  the  higher  wants  of  our 
nature.  Man  was  not  made  to  be  wholly  a  slave  to  the 
interests  of  the  present  life.  There  is  in  him  an  element 
that  lifts  him  above  them,  and  gives  him  a  delight  in 
beauty,  and  in  truth,  as  well  as  in  goodness,  for  their  own 
sake.  The  humblest  individual,  who  cultivates  a  flower 
for  the  sake  of  its  beauty,  wears  the  badge  of  a  nature  not 
wholly  of  earth  and  of  time.  The  artisan,  who  spends  an 
hour,  when  his  toil  is  done,  in  solving  a  mathematical 
problem ;    the   clerk,  or  the  farmer's  boy,  whose   mind 


8 

turns  spontaneously  to  some  department  of  literature  or  of 
science,  where,  without  thought  of  fame  or  of  gain,  he 
finds  delight  in  his  own  activity,  as  the  swallow  finds  it 
in  flying,  shows  a  capacity  and  a  want  that  can  only  be 
met  by  a  liberal  culture.  It  is  the  mind  working  in  its 
own  proper  sphere,  for  the  pleasure  of  the  work.  This 
tendency  may  be  encouraged  where  it  shows  itself,  may 
be  quickened  where  it  lies  dormant.  It  often  exists 
strongly,  not  with  reference  to  any  particular  department, 
but  to  knowledge  generally ;  and  we  need  institutions 
that  shall  draw  out  and  give  scope  to  whatever  there  may 
be  of  this  ennobling  element  among  a  people. 

Moreover,  man  is  by  nature  an  artist ;  in  the  fine  arts, 
beauty  and  completeness  are  his  sole  ends,  and  all  the  arts 
are  modified  by  a  regard  for  these.  And  not  only  is  he 
an  artist,  but  of  all  beings  and  things  he  is  the  best  fitted 
to  be  the  subject  of  art.  Of  all  beings,  he  is  originally 
the  most  unformed,  and  the  most  susceptible  of  formative 
influences.  And  shall  man  labor  for  beauty  and  complete- 
ness upon  the  rigid  and  insensible  marble,  and  shall  he  do 
nothing  to  realize  these  in  the  flexible  and  living  material, 
which  is  capable  of  a  beauty  so  much  nobler  and  higher  ? 
Rightly  viewed,  education  is  the  highest  among  the  fine 
arts. 

Education,  conducted  on  these  principles,  is,  indeed, 
regarded  by  some  as  not  practical.  But  what  can  be 
more  practical  than  to  make  a  true  man  ?  I  distrust  that 
practicalness  that  would  take  from  the  man,  to  add  to  his 
possessions.  I  believe  that  this  universe  is  so  constructed, 
that  he  who  seeks  legitimately  a  higher  end  in  any  depart- 
ment, will  so  best  secure  those  that  are  lower  ;  and  facts 
show  that  the  best  practical  results  to  society  have  origi- 
nated in  the  kind  of  activity  of  which  I  have  spoken. 

Another  end  of  a  liberal  education  is  to  gain  some  gen- 
eral acquaintance  with  the  circle  of  literature  and  the 
sciences.  There  is  no  department  of  literature,  there  is 
no  single  science,  to  which  a  man  may  not  devote  his  life 


without  exhausting  it ;  and  it  is  desirable  that  he  should 
ultimately  concentrate  his  powers  on  some  one  department. 
But  before  thus  selecting  one,  it  is  desirable  that  he  should 
have  a  general  acquaintance  with  all.  This  enables  him 
to  know  his  own  tendencies  ;  it  tends  as  nothing  else  can 
to  liberalize  his  mind,  and  gives  position  and  standing 
among  literary  men.  In  some  things  there  must  be 
thoroughness  and  discipline,  and  an  acquaintance  with 
them  sufficient  for  practical  purposes.  With  others,  the 
acquaintance  must  be  what  you  may  call  superficial,  if 
you  please  ;  but  yet  it  will  answer  a  most  valuable  pur- 
pose. The  knowledge  of  chemistry  that  can  be  acquired 
from  the  course  of  lectures  given  in  any  of  our  Colleges, 
may  be,  and  is  superficial,  and  inadequate  to  the  wants  of 
the  practical  chemist  ;  but  it  is  sufficient  to  open  to  the 
general  student  one  great  department  of  the  works  of 
God,  to  give  him  its  principles,  and  enable  him  to  bring 
them  into  harmony  with  the  rest.  Here  is  a  science  at 
the  opposite  pole  of  astronomy,  as  considering  forces  that 
act  at  imperceptible  distances  ;  and  yet  the  wonder  and 
delight  with  which  we  trace  the  definite  combinations  of 
atoms,  and  the  laws  and  forces  that  govern  them,  are 
hardly  less  than  those  which  we  experience  when  we 
trace  the  laws  and  forces  that  govern  the  heavenly  bodies. 
Indeed,  it  may  yet  be  found  that  the  forces  which  govern 
both  are  the  same.  While,  therefore,  the  College  may 
not  teach  chemistry  so  as  to  make  it  the  means  of  fame 
or  gain,  it  yet  does  make  it  an  open  avenue  to  these  ;  and 
especially  are  its  teachings  adequate  for  all  the  purposes  of 
man  as  an  emotive  and  contemplative  being,  striving  to 
bring  unity  into  all  his  knowledge,  and  to  connect  the 
physical  universe  with  its  Creator.  So  with  the  mathe- 
matics, as  an  instrument  of  investigation  ;  so  with  astron- 
omy, and  geology,  and  the  various  branches  of  natural 
history.  A  general  view  of  these  can  be  given,  which 
will  not  only  liberalize  the  mind,  and  elicit  tendencies, 
2 


10 

but  which  will  bring  into  activity,  and  bring  out  in  their 
full  proportions,  all  the  faculties,  and  thus  lay  the  founda- 
tion for  the  study  of  any  particular  profession. 

It  may  be  observed  further,  that  while  the  studies  of 
such  a  course  are  always  appropriate,  there  yet  seems  to  be 
special  provision  made  for  them  in  that  formative  period 
between  mere  boyhood  and  the  time  when  professional 
studies  and  active  pursuits  may  be  best  entered  upon. 

But  if  there  is  to  be  a  system  of  liberal  education, 
chiefly  for  persons  in  their  forming  period,  I  think  it  will 
be  generally  agreed  that  it  should  involve  some  religious 
instruction  and  training,  and  a  general  supervision  of 
manners  and  of  morals.  At  no  period  of  life  can  these 
be  more  needed,  than  during  that  which  generally  occu- 
pies the  college  course ;  and  many  parents  will  never  con- 
sent to  send  their  sons  from  them  at  that  age,  without 
something  of  the  kind.  It  is  true,  the  college  system  im- 
plies confidence  in  the  character  of  the  student ;  and  no 
young  man  should  enter  upon  it  who  has  not  some  matur- 
ity of  character  and  strength  of  principle.  It  is  true,  also, 
that  the  means  of  supervision  in  Colleges  are  not  as  effec- 
tive as  would  be  desirable,  at  times  when  the  general 
tendency  is  downward,  and  when  there  is  artful  and 
determined  vice.  Still,  let  a  young  man  meet  the  same 
instructors  three  times  a  day  for  recitation,  and  twice  for 
prayer,  and  be  obliged  to  give  an  account  of  himself  if  he 
is  unprepared  or  absent,  and  let  the  record  of  his  attend- 
ance be  reviewed  once  a  week  by  a  college  faculty  ;  and 
if  they  are  discerning  and  faithful  men,  they  will  soon 
understand  the  tendencies  of  every  individual,  and  will  be 
able,  by  kind  suggestion  and  by  discipline,  to  exert  an  in- 
valuable influence  in  arresting  evil,  and  in  forming  aright 
the  general  habits.  Any  thing  that  would  tend  to  remove 
this  feature  from  the  system,  or  to  diminish  its  effect,  would 
be  undesirable.  More,  far  more,  if  possible,  ought  to  be  done. 

So   far,   under  this  head,   I  should  hope  for  a  general 
agreement.     I  may  not  hope  it,  however,  when  I  say,  that 


11 

the  course  of  study  in  a  liberal  education  should  be,  as  a 
whole,  a  prescribed  one. 

Without  a  prescribed  course  that  shall  be  substantially 
pursued  by  all,  there  can  be  no  pursuit  of  any  study  with 
reference  to  symmetry  of  development  in  the  faculties. 
Let  studies  be  optional,  and  men  will  choose  that  to  which 
they  have  some  natural  or  accidental  bias.  He  who  is  fond 
of  mathematics,  will  take  mathematics  and  pursue  them. 
This  I  would  have  him  do,  ultimately ;  but  if  he  is  to 
be  liberally  educated,  the  very  thing  he  needs  now,  is  to 
have  whatever  germs  of  taste  and  perceptions  of  beauty 
there  may  be  in  him,  stimulated  to  some  such  growth  as 
shall  be  a  counterpoise  and  relief  to  his  mathematical  ten- 
dencies. So  again,  is  a  man  imaginative,  susceptible, 
poetical,  capable  of  becoming  an  orator  and  a  poet  ?  I 
would  have  him  follow  his  bent ;  but  while  he  is  the  last 
man  that  would  choose  mathematics,  and  perhaps  meta- 
physics, he  is  the  very  one  whose  happiness  and  useful- 
ness would  be  most  promoted  by  a  judicious  discipline 
in  those  studies. 

It  is  said,  I  know,  that  if  a  study  be  really  beneficial, 
it  will  stand  on  its  own  merits ;  and  so  far  as  it  is  so,  will 
be  pursued.  But  this  proceeds  on  a  supposition  not  sus- 
tained by  facts.  Do  mankind  always,  do  the  young 
especially,  make  sacrifices,  and  deny  themselves  for  what 
they  know  will  be  for  their  good  ?  How  is  this  with  the 
studies  of  children  ?  How  with  early  rising  ?  How  with 
the  taking  of  a  cold  bath  ?  How  with  physical  exercise  ? 
How  with  abstinence  from  narcotics  ?  How  is  it  with 
uncivilized  and  heathen  nations,  in  their  relations  to  civil- 
ization and  Christianity  ?  In  these,  and  similar  cases,  of 
which  the  present  seems  to  be  one,  the  best  results  can  be 
reached  only  by  subjection  to  a  prescribed  course.  There 
is  in  man  a  tendency  to  choose  present  ease  ;  to  defer, 
and  avoid  labor  and  difficulty;  and  this  tendency  it  should 
be  one  object  of  education  to  counteract.  By  adopting  a 
prescribed  course,  we  submit  to  nothing  compulsory  or 


12 

slavish.  We  simply  avail  ourselves  of  the  experience  and 
wisdom  of  those  who  have  gone  before  us. 

Again,  the  idea  to  be  realized  here  is  a  specific  one  ; 
nearly  as  much  so,  as  in  professional  education.  The 
reading  and  lines  of  thought  in  each  profession  may 
branch  into  infinity,  no  less  than  in  a  liberal  education  ; 
but  if  it  would  be  folly  not  to  prescribe  a  course  in  the 
one,  why  not  in  the  other,  especially  as  the  students  are 
younger  and  less  able  to  choose  for  themselves  ?  But  if 
we  abandon  this  feature,  we  say  that  there  is  no  specific 
idea,  and  the  whole  system  must  lose  its  unity,  and 
dignity,  and  power.  There  will  indeed  be  no  system  of 
liberal  education,  and  education  itself  will  be  displaced 
from  among  the  fine  arts.  Its  teachers  will  cease  to  be 
professional  agents,  and  will  do  work  to  order. 

Without  a  prescribed  course,  also,  there  would  be  no 
benefit  from  the  collision,  the  comparison  and  the  general 
discipline  of  a  college  class.  In  most  cases,  this  is  of 
great  value.  Meeting  with  others  week  after  week,  and 
year  after  year,  on  the  basis  of  perfect  equality,  and  grap- 
pling with  the  same  difficulties,  an  individual  can  scarcely 
fail  to  gain  a  knowledge  both  of  his  absolute  and  relative 
strength.  For  this  end,  no  better  system  could  be  devised. 
Besides,  peculiarities  and  weak  points,  especially  in  the 
various  forms  of  vanity  and  self-conceit,  are  generally 
modified,  or  disappear  under  this  discipline. 

It  may  be  mentioned,  too,  that  without  a  prescribed 
course  there  would  be  no  community  of  literary  men, 
standing  on  common  ground,  as  the  graduates  of  our  Col- 
leges now  do.  The  whole  of  the  present  order,  with  all 
the  strong  associations  connected  with  it,  which  work 
many  desirable  results,  both  social  and  literary,  would 
have  to  be  given  up. 

But  such  a  system,  it  is  said,  must  require  all  to  proceed 
at  the  same  rate,  an  i  limit  them  to  the  same  acquisitions. 
By  no  means,  unless  we  suppose  the  student  to  be  the 
merest  automaton.      We  would,   indeed,  require  certain 


13 

things  ;  but  would  encourage  the  student  to  attain  as 
much  more  as  possible.  We  would  not  teach  him  that 
his  object  is  to  "cram"  for  an  examination,  and  to  pass 
an  ordeal  as  soon  as  he  could  reach  a  given  standard. 
We  would  rather  give  some  time  and  scope  for  growth 
and  breadth  in  a  natural  way  ;  for  general  reading,  and 
the  indulgence  of  individual  taste.  Our  graduates  should 
all  be  men  ;  but  we  would  cramp  nothing,  and  dwarf 
nothing,  and  would  have  them  differ  as  much  in  their 
intellectual,  as  their  physical  stature. 

But  while  we  would  thus  have  a  standard  for  a  liberal 
education,  it  should  no  more  be  a  fixed  one,  than  that  for 
professional  education.  What  would  be  a  liberal  educa- 
tion in  one  age,  would  not  be  in  another ;  and  no  man 
should  wish,  however  good  it  might  be  for  the  time,  to 
stereotype  any  such  system.  Clearly  the  standard,  and  the 
whole  system  of  education,  can  be  true  to  its  end  only  by 
being  flexible  to  the  advancement  and  wants  of  the  age. 

May  I  not  say,  then,  that  we  need  institutions  that  will 
give  a  liberal  education,  including  regard  to  manners  and 
morals,  and  to  religion  ;  that  shall  be  adapted,  in  restraint 
and  discipline,  to  the  period  between  the  confinement  of 
the  school-room  and  the  perfect  freedom  of  manhood  ; 
and  that  shall  have  a  prescribed  course,  based  on  the  wis- 
dom of  the  past,  and  adapted,  by  good  sense,  to  the  wants 
of  the  present  ?  Such  institutions  I  suppose  our  Colleges 
were  intended  to  be  ;  and  institutions  that  will  do  sub- 
stantially this,  it  seems  to  me,  the  community  not  only 
need,  but  will  have. 

That  the  Colleges  have  always  realized  this  idea,  need 
not  be  asserted.  They  have,  perhaps,  been  too  numer- 
ous ;  they  have  lacked  means  ;  students  have  been  poor, 
and  obliged  to  teach  ;  there  has  been  a  strong  tendency  to 
rush  into  active  life,  and  at  the  same  time  a  desire  to  have 
the  name  of  having  completed  a  liberal  course  of  study. 
There  has,  too,  been  a  popular  cry  against  Colleges  as  too 
rigid  and  exclusive  ;  some  of  them  have  pursued  a  mis- 


14 

taken  policy,  and  it  has  been  difficult  to  keep  the  standard 
where  it  should  be. 

Nor  do  I  suppose  that  any  of  the  Colleges  either  have 
pursued,  or  do  now  pursue,  the  very  best  methods  of  real- 
izing this  idea.  To  do  this,  the  studies  selected  should  be 
those  best  adapted  at  once  to  immediate  and  practical 
utility,  and  to  the  discipline  of  the  mind  ;  they  should  be 
arranged  in  a  course,  the  preceding  parts  of  which  should 
prepare  the  way  for  those  that  follow  ;  and  they  should  be 
pursued  in  such  proportions,  at  such  times  and  in  such  a 
manner,  as  is  best  suited  to  those  laws  of  thought  on 
which  all  philosophical  education  must  be  based;  as  will 
best  facilitate  acquisition,  and  give  knowledge  that  shall 
be  at  once  permanent  and  readily  at  command. 

Into  such  a  course,  to  refer  very  briefly  to  this  much 
agitated  question,  I  have  no  doubt  the  ancient  classics 
should  enter.  By  the  study  of  these  we  gain,  indirectly, 
much  knowledge  of  ancient  history  and  of  man  ;  we  be- 
come conversant  with  the  finest  models  ;  rendering  care- 
fully and  elegantly  from  one  language  into  another  we 
adopt  the  best  method  of  attaining  a  copious  and  exact 
vocabulary  as  an  instrument  not  only  of  communication 
but  of  thought ;  we  gain  some  insight  into  the  philosophy 
of  language  ;  and  from  the  intimate  connection  of  the 
Latin  and  Greek  with  the  composition  and  structure  of 
our  own  language,  especially  in  professional  and  technical 
terms,  we  gain  a  knowledge  of  that  which  could  be  ac- 
quired in  no  other  way. 

We  admit  fully  that  there  are  men  of  great  distinction 
and  usefulness  who  have  not  studied  the  classics ;  but  we 
say  there  are  some  things  they  cannot  do  as  well  as  they 
otherwise  might,  and  some  which  they  cannot  do  at  all. 
Webster,  and  Everett,  and  Choate,  would  doubtless  have 
been  distinguished  men  without  classical  study  ;  but  they 
could  never  have  done  what  they  have  done.  There  is 
an  element  in  their  speeches  and  writings  which  every 
scholar   sees   could  not  have   been   there    without   this, 


15 

which  is  felt  by  the  whole  public,  which  gives  them  now 
a  higher  place  as  English  classics,  and  will  give  them  a 
firmer  hold  on  posterity.  These  men  have  not  only 
studied  the  classics,  but,  occupied  as  they  have  otherwise 
been,  it  is  understood  that  they  have  lived  in  communion 
with  them.  After  a  speech  by  Mr.  Choate,  strong,  indeed, 
in  thought  and  in  logic,  but  for  its  beauty  and  power  of 
language  the  most  extraordinary  I  ever  heard — certainly, 
I  think,  no  man  living  could  equal  it — he  said,  in  conver- 
sation, that  he  found  some  time  every  day  for  the  reading 
of  Greek. 

With  this  view  of  the  classics  we  would  retain  them  ; 
but  it  would  be  a  great  point  gained,  if,  as  is  now  the 
tendency,  the  preparation  in  them  could  be  more  thorough. 

In  minor  matters  there  is  a  good  deal  of  diversity  in 
the  course  pursued  by  the  different  Colleges,  and  doubt- 
less room  for  improvement  in  them  all.  If  I  might  ven- 
ture to  state  my  own  impressions,  I  should  say  that  the 
physical  system  has  not  been  sufficiently  cared  for.  In 
many  cases,  where  health  has  not  actually  failed,  the  vital 
energies  and  general  tone  of  the  system  have  been  de- 
pressed. I  should  say,  too,  that  habits  of  observation,  or, 
in  other  words,  the  senses,  have  not  been  sufficiently  cul- 
tivated. I  would  make  drawing  a  part  of  the  course, 
and,  if  possible,  music,  and  have  an  early  study  of  some 
science  requiring  observation  and  description,  furnishing 
series  of  natural  objects  for  this  purpose.  Perhaps,  too, 
sufficient  attention  has  not  been  paid  to  method  in  the 
arrangement  and  distribution  of  the  studies. 

With  these  remarks  on  a  liberal  education,  we  now  pass 
to  a  second  general  proposition,  to  which,  I  think,  most 
will  assent,  which  is,  that  the  means  of  such  an  education 
should,  as  nearly  as  possible,  be  made  accessible  to  all. 

This  is  a  second  great  idea  which  those,  who  have 
founded  and  sustained  our  Colleges,  have  endeavored  from 
the  first  to  realize.     They  have  struggled  on  in  the  en- 


16 

deavor  to  attain  these  two  ends,  which,  with  inadequate 
means,  must  always  conflict.  They  have  wished  to  fur- 
nish every  facility,  from  books,  and  apparatus,  and  teach- 
ers to  give  the  best  possible  education,  and  yet  make  it 
so  little  expensive  as  to  be  accessible  to  all.  This  is  the 
true  idea  of  a  College  in  this  country;  and  surely  nothing 
can  be  more  in  accordance  with  our  common  school  sys- 
tem, and  with  the  whole  spirit  of  our  institutions. 

The  people  ought  to  have,  they  must  have,  accessible 
to  all — I  would  gladly  see  them  as  free  as  our  common 
schools — institutions  furnished  with  every  facility  for  the 
very  highest  education  ;  so  good  that  no  man,  whatever 
may  be  his  wealth  or  station,  can  send  his  son  else- 
where, except  to  his  own  disadvantage.  The  feeling  that 
this  is  so,  should  be  a  great  and  pervading  element  in  our 
social  and  civil  state.  For  this  it  is  that  the  State  has 
bestowed  its  bounty.  For  this,  public  spirited  and  far- 
seeing  individuals  in  former  times  and  our  own,  the  Har- 
vards,  the  Williamses,  the  Browns,  the  Lawrences,  and 
the  Willistons,  have  labored  and  made  sacrifices.  It  is 
not  a  mere  equality  of  right  that  will  keep  society  in  a 
state  of  stable  equilibrium  ;  there  must  also  be  a  strong 
tendency  to  equality  of  condition  and  of  social  position. 
But  knowledge  and  wealth  are  the  two  great  means  by 
which  men  gain  standing  and  influence  ;  and  where  the 
means  of  attaining  these  are  guarded  from  practical  mo- 
nopoly, there  the  institutions  will  be  essentially  equal  and 
free.  There  you  will  have  all  the  equality  that  is  com- 
patible with  a  healthy  stimulus  and  just  reward  of  indi- 
vidual enterprise.  In  the  old  world,  the  spirit  of  mo- 
nopoly has  generally  reigned,  both  in  respect  to  wealth 
and  knowledge.  In  some  instances  they  have,  indeed, 
thrown  open  the  road  to  the  highest  knowledge  more 
freely  even  than  we  have  yet  done ;  but  this  has  been  so 
done  by  the  government,  that  they  have  held  the  patron- 
age and  direction  of  talent,  and,  under  the  form  of  popu- 
lar  education,    have  endeavored  to  bias,  indirectly,  the 


17 


finest  minds  in  favor  of  monarchical  institutions.  But 
in  this  country,  whatever  may  be  said  of  wealth,  there 
should  be  no  monopoly  of  knowledge.  Its  fountains 
should  be  practically  and  equally  open  to  all.  This  will 
draw  out  the  latent  talent  and  genius,  the  intellectual 
pith  and  manhood  of  the  whole  country,  and  bring  them 
into  free  competition.  It  will  bring,  side  by  side,  the  son 
of  the  poor  widow  and  of  the  millionaire.  Side  by  side 
it  will  bring  the  hard-handed,  sun-browned,  coarsely  clad 
youth,  who,  with  the  exception  of  some  help  from  borne 
in  clothing,  expects  to  work  his  own  way  ;  who  furnishes 
his  room  with  two  chairs  and  a  table,  and  goes  to  work; 
who  does  not  so  far  approximate  a  carpet  on  his  floor,  or  a 
picture  on  his  wall,  as  even  to  desire  them  ;  and  the  youth 
delicately  brought  up,  whose  mother  comes  on  with  him, 
and  sees  to  the  fitting  up  of  his  room,  and  indulges  him 
in  some  things  which  she  herself  thinks  rather  extrava- 
gant, because  other  young  men  have  them,  and  she  has 
always  observed  that  her  son  studies  best  when  he  has 
things  pleasant  about  him.  Now,  a  young  man  will  pre- 
sent himself  elaborately  fitted,  well  informed  and  gentle- 
manly in  all  respects  ;  and  now,  one  who  has  started  up, 
perhaps,  from  some  nook  in  the  mountains  denominated 
Green,  who  has  acquired,  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  the 
Latin,  and  Greek,  and  mathematics,  necessary  to  enter 
College,  but  who  knows  nothing  of  literature,  or  history, 
or  the  world.  He  does  not  know  that  such  a  man  as 
Addison,  or  Johnson,  or  Walter  Scott,  ever  lived.  Going 
to  the  president's  study  for  the  first  time,  he  sits  with  his 
hat  on,  evidently  as  innocent  of  any  conception  of  man- 
ners, as  of  the  tricks  that  await  him  from  those  far  inferior 
to  him  in  true  worth  and  in  promise,  who  may  laugh  at 
him  now,  but  who,  before  three  years  are  past,  will  be 
very  likely  to  "laugh  on  the  other  side." 

A  system  like  this,  really  felt  by  the  whole  people  to 
belong  to  them,  must  be  among  those  things  which  will 
3 


18 

make  every  man  proud  of  his  country,  and  make  it  dear  to 
him.  It  must  tend  powerfully  to  preserve  and  foster  a 
genuine  spirit  of  equality  and  independence.  It  is  capable 
of  abuse  ;  but  they  must  know  very  little  of  its  real  spirit 
and  bearings,  who  can  call  it  aristocratic.  It  would  be 
impossible  to  devise  a  system  more  entirely  the  reverse. 

The  next  proposition  I  would  make,  is  one  to  which 
many  would  gladly  assent,  if  they  do  not.  It  is,  that 
such  a  system  would  not  require  a  very  large  expenditure 
of  money.  I  say  this  because  there  is,  in  some  quarters, 
a  contrary  impression  ;  and  because,  if  true,  it  is  impor- 
tant to  this  enterprise,  and  to  the  whole  system,  that  it 
should  be  so  understood. 

In  a  single,  well-devised,  thorough,  undergraduate 
course,  very  large  libraries,  a  great  amount  of  apparatus, 
and  a  large  body  of  instructors,  can  be  of  no  essential 
service.  This  follows  from  the  position  of  the  young 
men  when  they  enter,  and  from  what  it  is  possible  they 
should  do  in  four  years.  A  specific  work  is  to  be  done  ; 
and  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  it  would  be  better 
done  by  a  few,  well-qualified,  thorough,  working  men, 
than  by  a  large  number.  The  excellence  of  a  course  will 
not  depend  on  the  amount  of  science  there  is  in  connec- 
tion with  an  institution  ;  but  on  the  faithfulness  and  skill 
with  which  the  instructors  bring  their  minds  into  contact 
with  the  mind  of  the  pupil,  and  lead  him  along  those 
paths  of  thought  and  investigation  where  their  own  minds 
have  been.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  an  instructor,  that 
he  causes  the  mind  of  the  pupil  to  go  where  his  mind 
goes.  He  is  not  to  tell  the  pupil  about  things,  as  he 
might  tell  about  a  fine  prospect  ;  and  attempt  to  make 
him  see  it  through  his  eyes  ;  he  must  go  himself,  and 
stand  where  the  prospect  is,  must  see  that  the  pupil  follows 
him  step  by  step,  and  cause  him  to  stand  where  he 
stands,  and  to  see  with  his  own  eyes.  But  to  do  this  re- 
quires time,  and  acquaintance  with  individuals, — on  some 


19 

subjects,  it  requires  a  great  expenditure  of  thought  and 
emotion  ;  and  if  the  instruction  be  greatly  divided,  very 
little  of  this  will  be  possible.  Responsibility  will  be 
divided,  and  the  danger  will  be,  that  there  will  be  in  the 
course  but  little  depth  and  power.  A  few  such  men,  every 
institution  should  be  able  to  command  and  to  retain.  It 
should  pay  them  well.  Obtain  the  right  men,  and  let 
their  hearts  be  in  the  work,  and  the  great  difficulty  is 
surmounted.  But  to  do  this,  surely  need  not  require  a 
very  great  expenditure.  Williams  College  has  now  stood 
nearly  sixty  years.  From  the  question  of  its  removal, 
and  from  fire,  it  has  passed  through  periods  of  great  diffi- 
culty. It  is  not  for  me  to  say  what  it  has  done  ;  but  it 
has  lived,  and  has  educated  nearly  fifteen  hundred  men, 
and  is  now  educating  more  than  two  hundred.  But  it 
never  has  had,  it  has  not  now,  I  do  not  know  that  it  ever 
will  have,  charity  funds  and  all,  a  productive  capital  of 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  This  ought  not  so  to  be.  These 
brethren  are  quite  right  in  seeking  to  lay  broader  founda- 
tions for  the  great  West,  and  I  desire  to  aid  them  in  doing 
so.  For  its  stability  and  greatest  efficiency,  such  an  insti- 
tution should  have  from  seventy-five  to  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  The  latter  sum  would  be  the  limit  of  my 
wishes,  unless  classes  are  to  be  divided ;  and  for  double 
that  we  could  educate  gratuitously,  if  not  all  who  would 
come,  yet  more  than  our  present  number.  This  shows 
that  if  the  Western  States,  or  any  other  States,  choose  to 
put  their  college  system  on  the  same  footing  with  their 
common  schools,  they  can  do  it. 

But  the  question  now  arises,  whether  this  system  would 
supply  all^the  educational  wants  of  the  country.  To  this, 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  No.  The  time  I  think 
has  come,  when  we  need  an  institution,  one  or  more,  of 
a  different  order.  We  need  a  University.  Of  this,  the 
nucleus  and  basis  should  be  professional  education,  mean- 
ing by  this  not  merely  that  for  the  three  professions  tech- 


20 

nically  so  called,  but  education  in  any  branch  of  literature 
or  science,  or  art,  which  would  fit  an  individual  for  a 
specific  line  of  life. 

Here  men  from  the  different  Colleges,  and  others 
desiring  to  be  fitted  for  practical  life,  should  meet,  and 
stand  chiefly  on  their  own  responsibility,  and  be  free  to 
learn,  and,  as  far  as  practicable,  to  teach  whatever  they 
might  choose.  Here  should  be  a  library  of  a  million  or 
a  million  and  a  half  of  volumes,  and  cabinets,  and  collec- 
tions in  the  arts,  and  facilities  for  prosecuting,  to  any  extent, 
any  branch  of  knowledge.  Here  the  scientific  farmer, 
the  mechanic,  the  miner,  the  engineer,  the  chemist,  the 
artist,  the  literary  man,  should  find  ample  means  of 
instruction.  As  far  as  possible,  they  should  have  access 
to  all  that  the  experience  and  genius  of  the  world  has  yet 
contributed  in  their  several  departments. 

Of  the  causes  and  indications  of  such  a  want,  I  need 
not  now  speak.  They  are  to  be  found  in  the  immense 
expansion  of  the  industrial  and  commercial  interests  in 
connection  with  the  application  of  science  to  the  arts;  in 
the  quickening  and  extension  of  thought  and  activity  in 
all  directions  ;  and  in  the  general  advancement  of  society 
and  demand  for  a  higher  culture.  For  a  long  time  this 
want  has  been  felt,  and  has  been  increasing  ;  and  the 
attempts  by  some  of  our  Colleges  to  supply  it  have  been 
praiseworthy. 

How  this  want  may  be  best  met,  is  a  broad  question, 
which  we  cannot  now  discuss.  Clearly  it  cannot  be  done 
by  each  separate  College  ;  and  so  far  as  I  can  form  an 
opinion,  any  attempt  to  blend  the  two  courses  into  one, 
will  but  produce  an  expensive,  complex,  incongruous  and 
inadequate  system. 

The  question  will  then  arise,  whether  such  an  institu- 
tion, really  distinct,  should  stand  wholly  by  itself,  or  be 
engrafted  on  some  one  of  our  Colleges.  If  it  should  be 
thus  engrafted,  the  object  would  be,  not  the  benefit  of 
the  college  course, — for  no  one  supposes  that  the  profes- 


21 

sional  schools  connected  with  some  of  our  Colleges  can 
be  of  any  advantage  to  that, — but  that  the  University 
might  avail  itself  of  the  means  already  in  possession  of 
the  College.  How  far  this  consideration  should  weigh 
at  the  East,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  ;  but  if  a  new  sys- 
tem were  to  be  formed,  it  would  be  my  decided  impres- 
sion that  it  would  be  better  if  they  were  wholly  separated. 
The  whole  object,  and  scope,  and  economy  of  a  colle- 
giate and  of  a  professional  course,  must  be  entirely 
different ;  and  there  cannot  but  be  practical  evils,  where 
young  men,  having  such  different  objects,  and  under  such 
different  regulations,  are  associated. 

Nor  would  the  establishment  of  such  a  University  re- 
quire too  great  an  expenditure.  No  buildings  would  be 
needed,  except  for  a  library  and  cabinets,  and  lecture 
rooms  ;  and  from  the  greater  numbers,  the  lectures  would 
pay  for  themselves,  or  at  least  would  require  less  endow- 
ment than  if  scattered  in  separate  schools.  There  are 
men  in  this  country  who  could  found  such  an  institution, 
and  put  it  well  on  its  way,  and  have  an  ample  fortune 
left.  This  would  give  us  an  educational  system  efficient 
and  complete  ;  there  are  movements  toward  it  in  various 
quarters,  and  such  an  one  I  trust  we  may  yet  have. 

I  have  thus  indicated  some  things  which  I  should 
regard  as  essential  to  a  complete  educational  system. 
This  has  been  done  very  briefly  and  imperfectly  ;  but  I 
hope  sufficiently  to  show,  what  was  said  must  be  shown 
in  order  to  legitimate  this  Society  most  fully — that  is, 
that  the  Institutions  which  it  would  establish  at  the  West, 
will  be  an  essential  link  in  such  an  educational  system  as 
a  great  and  free  people  ought  to  have.  Its  specific  object, 
indeed,  is  to  provide  ministers  for  the  churches  ;  but  we 
contend  that  the  general  education  which  they  need  is 
precisely  that  which  is  fitted  for  man  as  man — that  which 
any  judicious  parent  would  wish  to  give  his  son,  to  fit 
him  for  usefulness  and  distinction  in  the  world. 


22 


There  is  here,  there  can  be  but  one  great  point  of  differ- 
ence, and  that  is  the  extent  to  which  religious  instruction 
and  influence  shall  enter  into  these  Seminaries.  This  is  a 
point  on  which  this  Society  can  have  no  hesitation  and  no 
compromise.  Man  has  a  moral  and  religious  nature,  by 
which  it  was  intended  his  other  qualities  should  be  con- 
trolled. To  this,  the  intellect  and  all  its  acquisitions  should 
be  subservient ;  upon  the  right  direction  of  this,  will 
depend  his  individual  well-being  here  and  hereafter,  and 
the  well-being  of  society;  and  it  is  absurd  to  think  of 
educating  him  as  a  man,  and  neglect  this.  No  man, 
especially  no  Christian  man,  has  a  right  to  send  his  son 
to  an  institution  where  provision  is  not  made  and  care 
taken  for  this.  In  this,  the  period  of  college  life  is  often 
a  critical  one,  often  a  turning  point.  What  a  man  is  when 
he  leaves  College,  he  generally  continues  to  be. 

What  we  need,  then,  and  must  have,  are  institutions  on 
the  broad  basis  of  Christianity,  with  a  course  of  study 
thoroughly  liberal, — institutions  of  which  no  one  can  com- 
plain for  sectarianism  ;  and  yet  having  connected  with 
them  such  religious  instruction  and  influence  as  should 
satisfy  Christian  people,  as  will  tend  to  foster  piety,  and 
lead  men  to  God.  These  are  the  two  great  features,  and 
the  only  ones  on  which  we  insist.  Retain  these  fully, 
and  we  are  willing  our  institutions  should  be  modified, 
should  be  Westernized,  if  you  please,  to  any  extent. 

That  there  may  be  such  institutions,  is  shown  by  our 
New  England  and  other  Colleges.  Who  complains  of 
Yale  College,  or  of  Princeton,  as  sectarian?  If  there  can 
be  any  ground  of  complaint,  it  must  be  only  from  the 
connection  with  them  of  Theological  Seminaries.  Expe- 
rience shows  that  Colleges  may  be  so  conducted  as  to  be 
highly  favorable  to  growth  in  piety,  and  to  revivals  of 
religion.  There  are  no  communities  where  revivals  have 
been  more  frequent,  or  more  powerful,  or  more  free  from 
questionable  elements,  or  more  happy  in  their  results. 
From  the  first,  the  Colleges  generally  have  sympathized 


23 

fully  with  the  religious  community  in  this  ;  and  more 
especially  since  the  annual  observance  by  the  churches  of 
a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer  on  their  behalf. 

Modern  times  do  not  furnish,  scarcely  can  ancient  times 
furnish  more  signal  instances  of  answer  to  prayer.  It  has 
been  wonderful  to  see  the  great  mass  of  such  a  commu- 
nity swayed  by  an  invisible  influence,  as  the  trees  of  the 
wood  are  swayed, — an  influence  gradually  awing  down 
all  opposition,  and  producing  in  every  mind  the  solemn 
conviction  that  it  was  from  God.  It  has  been  sublime  to 
see  young  men,  in  the  face  of  such  a  community,  in  the 
perfect  stillness  of  the  crowded  meeting,  rise  and  in  few 
and  simple  words  state  their  convictions  of  sin,  their  hope 
in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  their  determination  to  serve  him 
in  future.  Such  scenes  we  have  witnessed  the  past  year, 
and  also  the  present.  They  have  been  witnessed  in  many 
other  Colleges  ;  and  this  Society  would  establish  institu- 
tions where  they  may  be  witnessed  without  a  miracle. 

And  such  institutions  are  needed  not  merely  for  the 
sake  of  religion,  but  of  education  itself  and  of  the  state. 
God  made  the  intellect  and  the  moral  nature  to  work  in 
harmony,  to  act  and  react  on  each  other.  He  never  in- 
tended the  intellect  should  reach  its  perfection,  except 
under  the  control  of  the  moral  faculty  ;  it  never  will  ; 
and  to  seek  to  make  it,  is  like  seeking  to  roll  up  the  stone 
of  Sisiphus.  It  is  time  this  principle  was  fully  recog- 
nized, especially  in  our  western  States,  where  it  is  sad  to 
see  such  immense  educational  resources  in  danger  of  per- 
version and  loss.  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the 
theory  of  a  College  as  an  institution  where  every  facility 
is  provided,  and  young  men  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
come  in  the  freshness,  and  strength,  and  ingenuousness  of 
their  youth,  and  devote  themselves  to  self-improvement. 
A  more  gratifying  sight  could  hardly  be  presented,  than 
that  of  two  hundred  or  more  young  men,  devoting  them- 
selves faithfully  to  self-improvement,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
such  advantages.     But  he  must  know  little  of  human 


24 

nature,  who  does  not  perceive  that  there  must  be  con- 
nected with  such  institutions  tendencies  and  influences 
that  are  strong  to  evil,  and  which,  unresisted  and  uncon- 
trolled, would  render  them  a  curse  rather  than  a  blessing. 
There  is  danger  that  they  will  become  the  abodes  of 
indolence  and  vice,  danger  of  physical,  and  social,  and 
moral  deterioration.  If  any  one  supposes  that  there  will 
be  generally,  among  such  a  body,  faithful  devotion  to 
study,  and  moral  purity,  without  the  restraints  of  religion, 
and,  I  may  say,  the  presence  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  he  has 
only  to  look  below  the  surface  to  be  fully  undeceived. 
No ;  if  there  ever  was  an  institution  that  needed  the 
prayers  of  God's  people  and  every  good  and  holy  influ- 
ence, that  institution  is  a  College.  States  may  endow 
Colleges  as  they  will  ;  but  constituting  them  so  as  virtu- 
ally to  exclude  these  influences,  there  will  be  heard  a 
voice,  and  there  ought  to  be,  saying,  "  Come  out  of  them, 
my  people."  And  they  will  come  out  and  eudow  insti- 
tutions for  themselves,  and  such  institutions  will  be  pre- 
ferred by  the  great  mass  of  those  who  have  sons  to  edu- 
cate. If  political  bodies,  in  those  States  where  there  are 
large  educational  funds,  cannot  secure  and  perpetuate 
such  influences,  it  would  be  better  that  they  should  let 
collegiate  education  alone,  except  as  they  might  aid  per- 
manent boards  of  trust  established  for  the  purpose,  and 
that  they  should  give  their  strength  to  the  upbuilding  of 
a  University  on  the  plan  above  mentioned. 

In  the  mean  time  this  Society  has  a  work  to  do.  Let 
it  do  it  well;  let  it  strengthen  the  bonds  of  kindness; 
let  it  add  to  the  ties  of  blood  the  assimilative  influence  of 
kindred  literary  institutions  ;  let  it  select  wisely  the  points 
where  the  fortresses  shall  be  cast  up,  on  what  may  be  the 
moral  battle-field  of  the  world  ;  let  it  furnish  clear  light 
for  the  guidance  of  the  unequalled  strength  that  is  there 
growing  up;  let  it  provide  such  a  ministry  for  the  church 
as  she  will  need  in  the  day  that  is  coming. 


DISCOURSE 


COMMEMORATIVE     OF 


AMOS    LAWRENCE, 


DELIVERED    BY    REQUEST    OF    THE    STUDENTS, 


CHAPEL    OF   WILLIAMS    COLLEGE, 

FEBRUARY   21,   1853. 

BY 

MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D. 

PRESIDENT   OF  THE   COLLEGE. 

PUBLIScHED     BY     THE     STUDENTS. 


BOSTON: 
PRESS    OF    T.    R.   MARVIN. 

18  5  3. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 

T.   R.  Martin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


DISCOURSE. 


JOB   XXIX.    11-13. 

WHEN  THE  EAR  HEARD  ME,  THEN  IT  BLESSED  ME  ;  AND  WHEN  THE  EYE  SAW 
ME,  IT  GAVE  WITNESS  TO  ME  ;  BECAUSE  I  DELIVERED  THE  POOR  THAT 
CRIED,  AND  THE  FATHERLESS,  AND  HIM  THAT  HAD  NONE  TO  HELP  HIM. 
THE  BLESSING  OF  HIM  THAT  WAS  READY  TO  PERISH  CAME  UPON  ME,  AND 
I    CAUSED    THE    WIDOW'S    HEART    TO    SING    FOR    JOY. 

The  patience  of  Job,  in  connection  with  such 
signal  afflictions,  has,  in  some  measure,  drawn  atten* 
tion  from  the  general  excellence  of  his  character. 
That  patience  was  no  isolated  virtue,  having  its  root 
in  some  special  aptitude  for  it  of  the  constitution ; 
but  a  manifestation,  under  varied  circumstances,  of 
that  rational  and  central  excellence  that  had  shone 
forth  under  a  different  form  in  prosperity.  It  was 
but  the  circling  round  to  us  of  the  completed  orb 
of  his  character.  Not  from  his  conduct  in  affliction, 
but  in  prosperity,  it  was,  that  he  was  called  by  God 
'  a  perfect  and  an  upright  man.'  Scarcely,  if  at  all,  has 
the  world  shown  a  finer  example  of  all  that  goes  to 
make  up  a  complete  manhood  —  of  vivid  and  refined 
feeling,  of  elevated  and  tender  sentiment,  of  enlarged 
benevolence,  of  parental  faithfulness,  of  intellectual 

(3) 


power  in  the  high  form  of  genius,  and  of  an  exalted 
religious  character. 

Up  to  the  time  mentioned  in  the  history,  these 
excellences  had  been  manifested  in  connection  with 
high  distinction  in  life,  with  great  wealth,  and  unin- 
terrupted prosperity.  God  had,  as  it  is  said,  '  made 
an  hedge  about  him,  and  about  his  house,  and  about 
all  that  he  had  on  every  side.'  He  had  '  blessed  the 
work  of  his  hands,'  and  '  his  substance  was  increased 
in  the  land ;  —  so  that  this  man  was  the  greatest 
of  all  the  men  of  the  east.' 

Thus  exalted  and  prosperous,  he  was,  of  course, 
subject  to  the  usual  temptations  of  pride,  and  vanity, 
and  voluptuousness,  and  avarice.  But  these  he  re- 
sisted.* He  did  not  for  a  moment  forget  his  great 
moral  relations  to  the  Creator  and  to  his  fellow-crea- 
tures. He  abused  no  power  intrusted  to  him  ;  and 
in  the  acquisition,  the  right  estimate,  and  the  right 
use  of  property,  he  set  an  example  for   the   world. 

There  is  no  indication  that  he  was  the  possessor 
of  hereditary  power,  or  that  he  had  any  position  or 
advantage  that  was  not  due,  under  the  blessing  of 
God,  to  his  own  exertions  and  force  of  character. 
But  that  his  wealth  was  of  his  own  acquisition  is 
clearly  indicated  by  what  is  said  of  God's  having 
blessed  the  work  of  his  hands,  and  of  his  substance 
as  increased  in  the  land ;  also  where  he  says,  "  Be- 
cause mine  hand  had  gotten  much,"  showing  that  it 
was  his  own  hand  that  had  gotten  it. 


And  this  wealth  he  acquired  honestly.  No  part 
of  it  was  gained  by  any  process  of  which  any  one 
could  complain.  No  furrow  turned  for  him  could 
bear  witness  against  him,  either  that  the  soil  was 
dishonestly  acquired,  or  that  the  wages  of  the  laborer 
were  withheld.  "  If,"  says  he,  triumphantly,  when 
the  unjust  suspicions  of  his  friends  wrung  from  him 
his  vindication,  — "  if  my  land  cry  against  me,  or  that 
the  furrows  likewise  thereof  complain ;  if  I  have  eaten 
the  fruits  thereof  without  money,  or  have  caused  the 
owners  thereof  to  lose  their  life ;  let  thistles  grow  in- 
stead of  wheat,  and  cockle  instead  of  barley."  Nor 
did  he,  as  is  too  often  done,  either  gain  or  save  any 
thing  by  any  form  of  hard  dealing  with  his  servants 
or  dependants.  How  noble  and  solemn  is  his  recog- 
nition of  their  claims  to  equal  justice  !  "  If,"  says 
he,  "  I  did  despise  the  cause  of  my  man  servant,  or 
of  my  maid  servant,  when  they  contended  with  me, 
what  then  shall  I  do  when  God  riseth  up  ?  and  when 
he  visiteth,  what  shall  I  answer  him'?  Did  not  he 
that  made  me  in  the  womb  make  him  \  and  did  not 
one  fashion  us  in  the  womb  \ " 

Having  thus  acquired  his  property  rightfully,  he 
saw  its  true  relations  to  human  life,  and  placed  upon 
it  no  undue  estimate.  Between  the  idolatry  of  wealth 
and  of  the  other  creatures  of  God  he  made  no  dis- 
tinction. "  If,"  says  he,  "  I  have  made  gold  my  hope, 
or  have  said  to  the  fine  gold,  Thou  art  my  confidence  ; 
if  I    rejoiced   because    my   wealth   was   great,   and 


because  mine  hand  had  gotten  much  ;  if  I  beheld  the 
sun  when  it  shined,  or  the  moon  walking  in  bright- 
ness ;  and  my  heart  hath  been  secretly  enticed,  or  my 
mouth  hath  '  kissed  my  hand,  —  this  also  were  an 
iniquity  to  be  punished  by  the  Judge ;  for  I  should 
have  denied  the  God  that  is  above." 

And  the  property  thus  acquired,  and  thus  esti- 
mated, he  knew  how  to  use.  He  employed  it  in 
establishing  his  children  "  about  him,"  who  seem  to 
have  lived  in  harmony,  and  to  have  been  to  him  a 
source  of  great  comfort.  He  employed  it  also  in 
sustaining  the  bountiful  hospitality  of  the  east. 
"  The  stranger,"  says  he,  "  did  not  lodge  in  the 
street,  but  I  opened  my  doors  to  the  traveller."  And 
especially  did  he  employ  his  wealth  in  providing 
for  the  wants  of  the  poor.  "  If,"  says  he,  "  I  have 
withheld  the  poor  from  their  desire,  or  have  caused 
the  eyes  of  the  widow  to  fail ;  or  have  eaten  my 
morsel  myself  alone,  and  the  fatherless  hath  not 
eaten  thereof ;  if  I  have  seen  any  perish  for  want  of 
clothing,  or  any  poor  without  covering ;  if  his  loins 
have  not  blessed  me,  and  if  he  were  not  warmed  with 
the  fleece  of  my  sheep ;  if  I  have  lifted  up  my  hand 
against  the  fatherless,  when  I  saw  my  help  in  the 
gate,  —  then  let  mine  arm  fall  from  my  shoulder  blade, 
and  mine  arm  be  broken  from  the  bone." 

Of  such  a  man  it  might  well  be  expected  that  he 
could  say,  as  he  says  in  the  text,  "  When  the  ear 
heard  me,  then  it  blessed  me ;   and  when  the  eye  saw 


me,  it  gave  witness  to  me ;  because  I  delivered  the 
poor  that  cried,  and  the  fatherless,  and  him  that 
had  none  to  help  him.  The  blessing  of  him  that 
was  ready  to  perish  came  upon  me,  and  I  caused 
the  widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy." 

These  words,  thus  spoken  by  Job,  could  have  been 
applied  to  themselves  by  few  men  who  have  since 
lived,  more  appropriately  than  by  a  distinguished 
Benefactor  of  this  College,  who  has  recently  been 
taken  from  the  earth.  It  is  known  to  his  friends 
that  Mr.  Lawrence  stood  in  the  first  rank  among 
men  in  those  qualities,  both  of  the  head  and  of  the 
heart,  that  adorn  humanity,  and  to  some  of  these  I 
may  hereafter  refer ;  but  he  was  known  to  the  public 
chiefly  for  his  acquisition,  his  estimate,  and  his  use  of 
wealth.  With  an  integrity  as  unsullied  as  that  of 
Job  in  the  acquisition  of  property,  and  with  a  heart 
as  large  and  a  hand  as  open  in  its  distribution,  if 
we  make  allowance  for  the  different  length  of  human 
life,  his  charities  were  probably  not  less  extensive. 

Among  the  men  of  great  wealth  who  have  died 
in  this  country,  he  stands,  so  far  as  I  know,  in  some 
respects  alone ;  and  rising  as  he  did  from  moderate 
circumstances,  there  cannot  but  be  involved  in  his 
course  lessons  of  instruction,  great  principles  demand- 
ing not  only  careful,  but  special  attention  in  this  day 
of  the  vast  increase,  the  rapid  acquisition,  and  the 
selfish  and  reckless  expenditure  of  wealth.  Perhaps 
one  purpose  for  which  he  was  raised  up  was  to  calJ 


8 


attention  to  these  lessons  and  principles.  Perhaps 
the  time  may  be  near  when  higher  and  more  rational 
views  in  regard  to  property  and  its  uses  shall  prevail ; 
when  numbers  shall  escape  from  that  weary  and 
monotonous  round  of  mammon  —  the  toilsome  and 
careful  accumulation,  till  death,  of  sums  that  gener- 
ally depress  the  manhood,  and  often  ruin  the  charac- 
ter, of  those  for  whom  they  are  laid  up;  when  it 
shall  be  seen  that  it  is  not  money,  but  the  '  love  of 
money,'  that  is  the  '  root  of  all  evil,'  and  that  property 
is  a  great  trust.  Concerning  all  this,  Mr.  Lawrence 
made  no  new  discovery,  but  he  did  what  is  often 
quite  as  important.  He  saw,  as  by  intuition,  great 
practical  principles,  and  by  embodying  them  in  ac- 
tual life,  he  gave  to  some  that  had  fallen  much  into 
desuetude  the  freshness  and  force  of  a  new  discovery. 
He  did  in  his  department  and  sphere  what  Howard 
and  Mills  did  in  theirs. 

Like  most  men  in  this  country  who  have  possessed 
great  wealth,  Mr.  Lawrence  was  indebted  for  it  to 
his  own  exertions.  His  parents  were  of  the  old  Pu- 
ritan stock,  and  the  formative  influences  of  his  child- 
hood were  those  of  a  religious  New  England  family. 
His  father  shared  deeply  in  the  spirit  and  perils  of 
'76.  He  belonged  to  a  company  of  'minute  men; '  and 
on  the  very  day  of  his  marriage  the  alarm  was  given, 
his  company  was  called  for,  and  he  left  his  bride,  and 
without  returning,  gave  himself  for  months  to  the 
service  of  his  country.     He  was  a  farmer,  and  a  man 


of  standing  and  influence  both  in  the  town  and  in 
the  church.  Above  poverty  and  dependence,  he  was 
yet  unable  to  do  more  for  his  children  than  to  give 
them  the  means  of  education  accessible  in  their  na- 
tive town,  and  place  them  in  favorable  positions  to 
be  the  artificers  of  their  own  fortune.  With  the 
stern  manliness  that  oftenest  overlies  the  deepest  and 
tenderest  feelings,  he  showed  them  that  he  was  will- 
ing to  make  any  sacrifice  for  their  good,  and  they 
reciprocated  the  feeling. 

At  the  usual  age,  Mr.  Lawrence  was  placed  in  a 
store  in  Groton  as  a  clerk.  This  clerkship  he  re- 
garded as  the  turning  point  of  his  life,  and  was  wont 
to  trace  back  his  success  to  the  course  he  then  took. 
He  was  placed  with  a  man  past  middle  age,  who  had 
been  long  in  business,  and  was  supposed  to  be 
wealthy.  This  man  spent  the  most  of  his  time  in 
the  store,  but  did  very  little,  employing  several  clerks. 
It  was  the  usage  in  those  days  to  'treat'  customers 
after  they  had  traded,  the  clerks  preparing  the  various 
mixtures,  and  often  drinking  with  them.  To  this 
usage  Mr.  Lawrence  conformed  for  a  short  time,  but 
soon  observed  that  the  owner  of  the  store  generally 
showed  before  night  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  and 
that  the  older  clerks  were  fast  following:  in  his  foot- 
steps.  His  mind  was  soon  made  up.  Understanding 
perfectly  the  ridicule  he  should  meet  with,  and  which 
for  a  time  he  did  meet  with  in  its  fullest  measure, 
he  yet  took  at  once  the  ground  of  total  abstinence. 


10 


Such  a  stand,  taken  at  such  an  age,  in  such  circum- 
stances of  temptation,  before  temperance  societies 
had  been  heard  of,  or  the  investigations  had  been 
commenced  on  which  they  were  based,  was  a  strik- 
ing instance  of  that  practical  judgment  and  decision 
which  characterized  him  through  life.  About  the 
same  time,  he  came  to  a  similar  decision  in  regard 
to  tobacco,  and  never  used  it  in  any  form.  In  the 
wisdom  of  his  course  on  both  these  points  he  was 
confirmed  by  all  his  subsequent  observation.  The 
man  in  whose  store  he  was,  died  a  drunkard ;  and 
every  one  of  those  clerks,  together  with  other  young 
men  in  the  village  similarly  situated,  had  long  since 
found  drunkards'  graves.  In  a  letter  received  from 
him  last  summer,  which  accompanied  fifty  copies  of 
"  Stories  on  Tobacco,  by  Uncle  Toby,"  after  stating 
that  he  had  never  used  it,  he  says,  "  To  this  absti- 
nence from  its  use  (and  from  rum)  I  owe,  under 
God,  my  present  position  in  society.  Further,  I  have 
always  given  the  preference,  among  such  persons  as  I 
have  employed  for  more  than  forty  years  past,  to  such 
as  avoided  rum  and  tobacco,  —  and  my  experience 
has  been  to  confirm  me  that  it  is  true  wisdom  to  have 
done  so.  The  evil  is  growing  in  a  fearfully  rapid  ratio 
among  us,  and  requires  the  steady  course  of  respected 
and  honored  men  to  prevent  its  spread,  by  influen- 
cing the  school  children  of  our  land  against  becoming 
its  slaves."  Who  can  tell  the  bearing  upon  his  busi- 
ness of  thus  employing  men  of  unclouded  intellect, 


11 

and  steady  nerves,  having  the  power  of  self-control  \ 
Who  can  tell  how  many  young  men,  without  know- 
ing the  reason,  failed  to  obtain  a  place  which  would 
have  been  to  them  a  fortune  % 

At  twenty-one,  Mr.  Lawrence  went  to  Boston,  not 
with  the  purpose  of  remaining,  but  to  learn  the  fash- 
ions; and  see  how  business  was  done  there.  This 
was  in  April,  1807.  Instead,  however,  of  returning 
to  Groton,  as  he  had  intended,  he  was  induced  to  re- 
main in  Boston  as  a  clerk.  Here  he  so  commended 
himself  to  his  employers,  by  his  energy  and  business 
talent,  that  they  very  soon  offered  him  a  place  in 
the  firm.  Much  to  their  surprise,  and  without  any 
definite  knowledge  of  their  affairs,  he  declined  the 
offer.  He  did  not  like  their  manner  of  doing  busi- 
ness. Here,  again,  the  result  showed  his  sagacity. 
In  less  than  six  months  they  failed,  and  he  was 
appointed  by  the  creditors  to  take  charge  of  the  sale 
of  the  goods.  This  he  did ;  and  in  December  went 
into  business  on  his  own  account. 

He  was  now  exposed  to  the  temptations  of  a  city. 
But  he  stood  firm.  His  days  were  spent  in  business, 
and  his  evenings  in  useful  reading.  He  avoided 
the  appearance  of  evil,  treading  on  no  questionable 
ground  ;  and  no  stain  or  suspicion  of  vice  ever  rested 
upon  him. 

Of  his  business  career  I  know  no  particulars.  I 
have  never  understood  that  he  was,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  that  word,  a  fortunate   man.     His  wealth 


12 


came  to  him  by  no  lucky  chances,  but  by  a  skill  and 
an  energy  that  commanded  uniform  and  great  suc- 
cess. His  judgment  was  shown,  not  merely  in  the 
purchase  of  goods,  and  in  the  lines  of  business  on 
which  he  entered,  but  also,  as  has  been  said,  in  his 
selection  of  agents,  clerks,  and  partners ;  and  in 
deciding  whom  he  might  safely  trust.  He  made  no 
bad  debts.  It  is  said  there  has  been  no  man  in  Bos- 
ton who  took  hold  of  business  with  the  same  grasp 
and  energy.  Quick  in  his  perceptions,  deciding  as 
by  intuition,  and  prompt  in  action,  he  is  said  to  have 
had  in  those  days  little  patience  with  the  slow,  the 
inefficient,  the  dainty,  or  those  who  felt  above  their 
business.  So  energetic  young  men,  in  every  depart- 
ment, are  apt  to  feel.  They  think  these  things  need 
not  be.  And  perhaps  they  need  not ;  but  in  time 
they  become  more  tolerant  of  them,  finding,  as  the 
Saviour  said  of  the  poor,  that  we  have  them  always 
with  us. 

The  first  year  his  gains  were  small,  but  he  dealt  so 
promptly  and  honorably  that  his  customers  returned 
and  brought  others  ;  and  thus  the  rills  began  to  come 
in  that  formed  the  river.  In  a  few  years  he  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  a  house  that,  for  wealth  and 
mercantile  honor,  was  among  the  very  first  in  Boston, 
and  which  continued  so  till  the  firm  was  dissolved 
by  his  death. 

For  twenty-five  years  he  continued  in  active  busi- 
ness.    At  the  end  of   that  time,  he  was  suddenly 


13 

prostrated  by  drinking  cold  water  when  heated. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  paralysis  of  the  stomach,  and 
for  many  days  he  was  not  expected  to  recover.  After 
that,  he  was  subject  to  sudden  attacks,  which  deprived 
him,  sometimes  for  hours,  of  all  consciousness.  From 
that  time,  he  was  obliged  to  be  most  careful  of  his 
diet.  His  food  was  of  the  simplest  kind,  was  eaten  by 
weight,  and  for  twenty  years  he  sat  down  at  no  meal 
with  his  family.  His  attacks  often  came  without 
warning;  he  expected  to  die,  as  he  did,  in  one  of 
them,  and  hence  expressively  called  himself,  in  mili- 
tary phrase,  '  a  minute  man.'  From  this  time  he 
gave  no  attention  to  the  details  of  business,  but  re- 
mained the  senior  partner  of  the  firm,  giving  counsel 
and  general  direction,  and  being  consulted  and  relied 
on  in  all  questions  of  difficulty  and  importance. 

In  speaking  of  the  acquisition  of  his  property, 
and  as  indicating  his  sagacity  and  enterprise,  it  may 
be  mentioned  that  Mr.  Lawrence  was  among  the 
earliest  and  most  successful  of  those  who  engaged  in 
manufactures. 

Of  his  estimate  of  property,  and  of  the  modes  in 
which  it  can  be  made  to  contribute  to  the  enjoyment 
of  its  possessor,  and  to  human  well  being,  Ave  can 
judge  only  from  the  use  that  he  made  of  it. 

It  has  been  supposed  by  some  that  his  habit  of 
giving  largely  commenced  with  his  ill  health  ;  but  this 


14 

was  by  no  means  the  case.  It  is  known  that  it 
extended  back  to  the  period  of  his  early  prosperity, 
and  kept  pace  with  that.  He  had  a  sense  of  re- 
ligious obligation,  and  a  benevolent  heart ;  and  then, 
with  the  same  sagacity  that  governed  his  business 
transactions,  he  perceived  the  tendency  there  is  in 
accumulation  to  increase  the  love  of  money,  and 
guarded  against  it.  In  his  busiest  days,  he  had 
pasted,  in  large  letters,  in  his  pocket  book,  passages 
of  Scripture  inculcating  liberality,  and  the  obliga- 
tion of  good  stewardship. 

But  while  this  was  so,  we  cannot  suppose  that  his 
views  were  not  modified  by  the  loss  of  his  health. 
Often  struck  down  in  a  moment,  and  awaking  to  con- 
sciousness as  from  the  sleep  of  death,  and  then  re- 
maining for  weeks  so  feeble  that  neither  he  nor  his 
friends  expected  his  recovery,  he  was  led  to  look 
fully  and  calmly  at  death,  and  must  have  gained 
views  of  life  and  its  ends  which  another  discipline 
would  not  have  given  him.  This  was  doubtless  a 
part  of  God's  preparation  of  him  for  the  work  he 
was  to  do,  and  he  so  regarded  it.  Thenceforth  he 
lived  to  do  good. 

When  it  was  that  he  came  to  the  determination 
not  to  increase  his  property  I  do  not  know.  Nor  do 
I  know  the  whole  amount  of  his  charities.  Probably 
that  will  never  be  known.  I  am,  however,  safe  in 
saying,  that,  since  1840,  his  benefactions  have  not 
been   less   than   five  hundred   thousand   dollars. 


15 


This  he  did  not  dispense  at  random,  nor  yet  by  any 
rigid  and  inflexible  system  that  could  not  be  moulded 
and  shaped  by  the  calls  and  aspects  of  each  new  day. 
He  wished  to  know  his  duty  as  a  Christian  man,  and 
to  do  it,  and  to  gratify  his  best  affections.  He  aided 
family  connections  near  and  remote,  and  old  friends 
and  acquaintances.  If  any  of  them  needed  a  few 
hundred  dollars  to  help  them  over  a  difficult  position, 
it  was  sure  to  come.  But  his  sympathy  was  not  lim- 
ited at  all  to  kindred  or  acquaintance,  or  in  any  way 
narrowed  by  sect  or  party.  He  was  a  true  man,  in 
sympathy  with  suffering  humanity,  and  was  always 
glad  —  it  gave  him  real  pleasure  —  to  find  a  worthy 
object  of  his  bounty.  He  sought  out  such  objects. 
He  learned  histories  of  reverses,  and  of  noble  struggles 
with  adversity,  that  were  stranger  than  fiction.  Those 
thus  struggling  he  placed  in  positions  to  help  them- 
selves, furnishing  them,  if  necessary,  with  sums  from 
one  hundred  to  a  thousand  dollars,  or  more,  as  freely 
as  he  would  have  given  a  cup  of  cold  water.  He 
visited  almshouses,  and  hospitals,  and  insane  asylums, 
and  retreats  for  the  deaf  and  dumb,  and  the  blind, 
and  became  deeply  interested  in  many  of  their  in- 
mates. He  was  watchful  of  every  thing  needed  there 
for  comfort  or  for  instruction,  and  his  presence  always 
carried  sunshine  with  it.  He  distributed  useful 
books.  He  aided  genius,  and  encouraged  promising 
talent.  A  true  son  of  New  England,  he  appreciated 
education,  and  gave  his  money  and  his  influence  to 


16 

extend  it,  and  to  elevate  its  standard  in  every  grade 
of  our  institutions,  from  the  primary  school  in  Bos- 
ton to  the  College.  Not  only  the  Academy  at  Groton 
but  several  Colleges,  and  more  particularly  this  Col- 
lege, were  largely  aided  by  him. 

Other  persons  have  aided  this  College  generously, 
and  have  our  thanks  and  those  of  the  public ;  but 
he  was  its  chief  benefactor.  With  one  exception,* 
he  is  the  only  person  who  has  ever  given  the  Col- 
lege, at  any  one  time,  a  larger  sum  than  one  thousand 
dollars,  and  the  only  person  who  has  thus  given 
more  than  that  to  its  unrestricted  use. 

As  your  request  that  I  should  address  you  on  this 
occasion  had  its  origin  in  his  benefactions  to  the  Col- 
lege, some  account  of  them  will  be  expected. 

In  October,  1841,  the  building  known  as  the  East 
College  was  burned.  Needy  as  the  institution  was 
before,  this  rendered  necessary  an  application  to  the 
legislature  for  funds,  and  when  this  failed,  to  the 
public  at  large.  Owing  to  a  panic  in  the  money 
market,  this  application  was  but  slightly  responded 
to,  except  in  this  town.  In  Boston  the  amount 
raised  was  less  than  two  thousand  dollars,  and  the 
largest  sum  given  by  any  individual  was  one  hundred 
dollars.  This  sum  was  paid  by  Mr.  Lawrence,  who 
was  applied  to  by  a  friend  of  the  College ;  and  this,  it 
is  believed,  was  the  only  application  ever  made  to 

*  Woodbridge  Little,  Esq.,  who  gave  $2,500,  and  bequeathed  $3,200, 
to  aid  indigent  and  pious  young  men. 


17 

him  on  its  behalf.  This  directed  his  attention  to  the 
wants  of  the  College,  but  nothing  more  was  heard 
from  him  till  January,  1844.  At  that  time,  I  was 
delivering  a  course  of  the  Lowell  Lectures  in  Boston, 
when  his  son,  Mr.  Amos  A.  Lawrence,  called  and 
informed  me  that  his  father  had  five  thousand  dollars 
which  he  wished  to  place  at  the  disposal  of  the  Col- 
lege. As  I  was  previously  but  slightly  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Lawrence,  and  had  had  no  conversation 
with  him  on  the  subject,  this  was  to  me  an  entire 
surprise  ;  and  embarrassed  as  the  institution  then  was 
by  its  debt  for  the  new  buildings,  the  relief  and  en- 
couragement which  it  brought  to  my  own  mind,  and 
to  the  minds  of  others,  friends  of  the  College,  can 
hardly  be  expressed.  Still,  this  did  not  wholly  re- 
move the  debt.  On  hearing  this  casually  mentioned, 
he  said,  if  he  had  known  how  we  were  situated,  he 
thought  he  should  have  given  us  more ;  and  the  fol- 
lowing July,  without  another  word  on  the  subject, 
he  sent  me  a  check  for  five  thousand  dollars.  This 
put  the  College  out  of  debt,  and  added  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars  to  its  available  funds. 

In  January,  1846,  he  wrote,  saying  he  wished  to 
see  me ;  and  on  meeting  him,  he  said  his  object  was 
to  consult  me  about  the  disposition  of  ten  thousand 
dollars,  which  he  proposed  to  give  the  College.  He 
wished  to  know  how  I  thought  it  would  do  the  most 
good.  I  replied  at  once,  "  By  being  placed  at  the 
disposal  of  the  trustees,  to  be  used  at  their  discre- 


18 

tion."  He  said,  "  Very  well ;  "  and  that  was  all  that 
passed  on  that  point.  So  I  thought,  and  knowing 
his  simplicity  of  character  and  singleness  of  purpose, 
I  felt  no  embarrassment  in  making  that  reply.  Here 
was  a  beautiful  exemplification  of  the  precept  of  the 
Apostle,  "  He  that  giveth,  let  him  do  it  with  simpli- 
city." Such  a  man  had  a  right  to  have  for  one  of 
his  mottoes,  "  Deeds,  not  words."  This  was  just 
what  was  needed  —  not  all  that  was  needed,  but  it 
gave  us  some  breadth  and  enlargement,  and  was  a 
beginning  in  what  it  had  long  been  felt  must  sooner 
or  later  be  undertaken  —  the  securing  of  an  available 
fund  suitable  as  a  basis  for  such  an  institution. 

His  next  large  gift  was  the  library.  This  came 
from  his  asking  me,  as  I  was  riding  with  him  the 
following  winter,  if  we  wanted  any  thing.  Nothing 
occurred  to  me  at  the  time,  and  I  replied  in  the 
negative ;  but  the  next  day  I  remembered  that  the 
trustees  had  voted  to  build  a  library,  provided  the 
treasurer  should  find  it  could  be  done  for  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars.  This  I  mentioned  to  him.  He 
inquired  what  I  supposed  it  would  cost.  I  replied, 
five  thousand  dollars.  He  said  at  once,  "  I  will  give 
it."  With  his  approbation,  the  plan  of  a  building 
was  subsequently  adopted  that  would  cost  seven 
thousand  dollars,  and  he  paid  that  sum. 

A  year  or  two  subsequently,  he  inquired  of  me  the 
price  of  tuition  here,  saying  he  should  like  to  connect 
Groton  Academy  with  Williams    College  ;    and   he 


19 

paid  two  thousand  dollars  to  establish  four  scholar- 
ships for  any  who  might  come  from  that  institution. 

His  next  gift  was  the  telescope,  which  cost  about  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars.  The  history  of  this  would  in- 
volve some  details  which  I  have  not  now  time  to  give. 

In  1851,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Lawrence,  he  made 
a  visit  here.  This  was  the  first  time  either  of  them 
had  seen  the  place.  In  walking  over  the  grounds, 
he  said  they  had  great  capabilities,  but  that  we  needed 
more  land ;  and  authorized  the  purchase  of  an  adja- 
cent piece,  of  four  acres.  This  purchase  was  made 
for  one  thousand  dollars  ;  and  if  the  College  can 
have  the  means,  of  laying  it  out,  and  adorning  it 
suitably,  it  will,  besides  furnishing  scope  for  exercise, 
be  a  fit  addition  of  the  charms  of  culture  to  great 
beauty  of  natural  scenery. 

In  addition  to  these  gifts,  he  has,  at  different  times, 
enriched  the  library  with  costly  books,  of  the  expense 
of  which  I  know  nothing.  Almost  every  thing  we 
have  in  the  form  of  art  was  given  by  him. 

In  December,  1845,  I  received  a  letter  from  him, 
dated  the  22d,  or  '  forefathers'  day,'  which  enclosed 
one  hundred  dollars,  to  be  used  for  the  aid  of 
needy  students,  in  those  emergencies  which  often 
arise.  This  was  entirely  at  his  own  suggestion,  and 
nothing  could  have  been  more  timely  or  appropriate 
in  an  institution  like  this,  where  so  many  young  men 
are  struggling  to  make  their  own  way.  Since  that 
time,  he  has  furnished  me  with,  at  least,  one  hundred 


20 


dollars  annually  for  that  purpose,  and  he  regarded 
this  expenditure  with  much  interest. 

Thus,  in  different  ways,  Mr.  Lawrence  had  given 
to  the  College  between  thirty  and  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  he  had  expressed  the  purpose,  if  he  should 
live,  of  aiding  it  still  further. 

Understanding,  as  he  did,  the  position  and  wants 
of  this  College,  he  sympathized  fully  with  the  trustees 
in  their  purpose  to  raise  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  was  exerting  a 
most  warm-hearted  and  powerful  influence  for  its  ac- 
complishment. In  reference  to  this  great  effort,  we 
feel  that  a  strong  helper  is  taken  away. 

The  aid  which  Mr.  Lawrence  thus  gave  to  the 
College  was  great  and  indispensable,  and  probably  no 
memorial  of  him  will  be  more  enduring  than  what  he 
has  done  here.  By  this,  being  dead,  he  yet  speaks, 
and  will  continue  to  speak  in  all  coming  time.  From 
him  will  flow  down  enjoyment  and  instruction  to 
those  who  shall  walk  these  grounds,  and  look  at  the 
heavens  through  this  telescope,  and  read  the  books 
gathered  in  this  library,  and  hear  instruction  from 
teachers  sustained  wholly  or  in  part  by  his  bounty. 
Probably  he  could  not  have  spent  this  money  more 
usefully,  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  could 
have  spent  it  in  no  way  to  bring  to  himself  more  en- 
joyment. The  prosperity  of  the  College  was  a  source 
of  great  gratification  to  him,  and  he  said,  more  than 
once,  that  he  had  been  many  times  repaid  for  what 


21 

he  had  done  here.  That  he  should  have  thus  done 
what  he  did  unsolicited,  and  that  he,  and,  I  may  add, 
his  family,  should  have  continued  to  find  in  it  so 
much  of  satisfaction,  is  most  grateful  to  my  own 
feelings,  and  must  be  so  to  those  of  every  friend  of 
the  College.  In  doing  it,  he  seemed  to  place  himself 
in  the  relation,  not  so  much  of  a  patron  of  the  Col- 
lege, as  of  a  sympathizer  and  helper  in  a  great  and 
good  work. 

Having  thus  spoken  of  the  use  of  his  property  by 
Mr.  Lawrence,  I  observe  that  it  was  distinguished  by 
the  three  characteristics,  which  seem  to  me  essential 
to  the  most  perfect  accomplishment  of  the  ends  of 
benevolence;  and  that  in  two  of  these  he  was  pre- 
eminent. 

The  first  of  these  is,  that  he  gave  the  money  in  his 
lifetime.  No  man,  I  presume,  has  lived  on  this  con- 
tinent, who  has  approximated  him  in  the  amount 
thus  given  ;  and  in  this  course  there  are  principles 
involved  which  deserve  the  careful  attention  of  those 
who  would  act  conscientiously,  and  with  the  highest 
wisdom.  There  may,  doubtless,  be  good  reasons  why 
property  destined  for  benevolent  uses  should  be  re- 
tained till  death,  and  he  is  justly  honored  who  then 
gives  it  a  wise  direction ;  but  giving  thus  cannot  fur- 
nish either  the  same  test,  or  discipline  of  character, 
or  the  same  enjoyment ;  nor  can  it  always  accom- 
plish the  same  ends.     By  his  course,  Mr.  Lawrence 


22 

put  his  money  to  its  true  work  long  before  it  would 
have  done  any  thing  on  the  principle  of  accumula- 
tion, and  to  a  work,  too,  to  which  it  never  could  have 
been  put  in  any  other  way.  He  made  it  sure  also 
that  that  work  should  be  done,  and  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  its  results,  and  of  knowing  that,  through 
it,  he  became  the  object  of  gratitude  and  affection. 
So  doing,  he  showed  that  he  stood  completely  above 
that  tendency  to  accumulate  which  seems  to  form 
the  chief  end  of  most  successful  business  men,  and 
which,  unless  strongly  counteracted,  narrows  itself 
into  avarice  as  old  age  comes  on,  almost  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  natural  law.  He  did  stand  completely 
above  this.  No  one  could  know  him  without  per- 
ceiving that  in  his  giving  there  was  no  remnant  of 
grudging  or  of  reluctance ;  that  he  gave  not  only 
freely,  but  with  gladness,  as  if  it  were  the  appropri- 
ate action  of  a  vital  energy.  And  in  so  doing,  and 
in  witnessing  the  results,  and  in  the  atmosphere  of 
sympathy  and  love  thus  created,  there  was  a  test,  and 
a  discipline,  and  an  enjoyment,  as  well  as  a  benefit 
to  others,  that  could  have  been  reached  in  no  other 
way. 

The  second  peculiarity  in  the  bounty  of  Mr.  Law- 
rence, and  in  which  he  was  preeminent,  was  the 
personal  attention  and  sympathy  which  he  bestowed 
with  it.  He  had  in  his  house  a  room  where  he  kept 
stores  of  useful  articles  for  distribution.  He  made 
up  the  bundle,  he  directed  the  package.     No  detail 


23 

was  overlooked.  He  remembered  the  children,  and 
designated  for  each  the  toy,  the  book,  the  elegant  gift. 
He  thought  of  every  want,  and  was  ingenious  and 
happy  in  devising  appropriate  gifts.  In  this  attention 
to  the  minutest  token  of  regard,  while,  at  the  same 
time,  he  could  give  away  thousands  like  a  prince,  I 
have  known  no  one  like  him.  And  if  the  gift  was 
appropriate,  the  manner  of  giving  was  not  less  so. 
There  was  in  this  the  nicest  appreciation  of  the  feel- 
ings of  others,  and  an  intuitive  perception  of  delicacy 
and  propriety.  These  were  the  characteristics  that 
gave  him  a  hold  upon  the  hearts  of  many,  and  made 
his  death  really  felt  as  that  of  few  other  men  in 
Boston  could  have  been.  In  these  we  find  not  a  little 
of  the  utility,  and  much  of  the  beauty,  of  charity. 
Even  in  his  human  life,  man  does  not  live  by  bread 
alone,  but  by  sympathy,  and  the  play  of  reciprocal 
affection  ;  and  is  often  more  touched  by  the  kindness 
than  by  the  relief.  Only  this  sympathy  it  is  that  can 
establish  the  right  relation  between  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  and  the  necessity  for  this  can  be  superseded  by 
no  legal  provision.  This  only  can  neutralize  the 
repellent  and  aggressive  tendencies  of  individuals 
and  of  classes,  and  make  society  a  brotherhood, 
where  the  various  inequalities  shall  work  out  moral 
good,  and  where  acts  of  mutual  kindness  and  help- 
fulness may  pass  and  repass  as  upon  a  golden  chain, 
during  a  brief  pilgrimage  and  scene  of  probation. 
It  is  a  great  and  a  good  thing  for  a  rich  man  to  set 


24 

the  stream  of  charity  in  motion,  to  employ  an  agent, 
to  send  a  check,  to  found  an  asylum,  to  endow  a 
professorship,  to  open  a  fountain  that  shall  flow  for 
ages ;  but  it  is  as  different  from  sympathy  with  present 
suffering,  and  the  relief  of  immediate  want,  as  the 
building  of  a  dam  to  turn  a  factory  by  one  great 
sluiceway,  is  from  the  irrigation  of  the  fields.  Both 
ought  to  be  done.  By  Mr.  Lawrence  both  were 
done. 

The  third  characteristic  referred  to,  of  the  bounty 
of  Mr.  Lawrence,  was,  that  he  gave  as  a  Christian 
man,  —  from  a  sense  of  religious  obligation.  Not 
that  all  his  gifts  had  a  religious  aspect.  He  gave 
gifts  of  friendship  and  of  affection.  There  was  a 
large  enclosure  where  the  affections  walked  foremost, 
and  where,  though  they  asked  leave  of  Duty,  they 
yet  received  no  prompting  from  her.  Whether  he 
always  drew  this  line  rightly,  whether  in  the  measure 
and  direction  of  his  charities  he  was  always  right, 
whether  so  much  of  diffusion  and  individuality  was 
wise,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say.  Certain  it  is,  that  this 
form  of  charity  holds  a  place  in  the  church,  now,  less 
prominent  relatively  than  it  did  in  the  early  ages  ; 
and  it  may  be  that  the  proportions  of  Christian  char- 
acter, in  portions  of  the  church,  need  to  be  remod- 
elled and  recast  in  this  respect.  These  are  ques- 
tions for  each  individual.  It  is  sufficient  to  know 
that  Mr.  Lawrence  looked  the  great  doctrine  of 
stewardship  full   in  the  face,  and   prayed  earnestly 


25 

over  it,  and  responded  to  it  practically  as  few  have 
done. 

This  is  what  is  chiefly  needed  by  ns  all,  as  intrusted 
by  God  with  our  various  gifts  and  means  of  influence. 
This  it  is  that  is  needed  by  men  of  wealth.  The 
feeling  of  the  absolute  ownership  of  property,  and 
of  the  full  right  of  its  disposal  within  the  range  of 
human  law,  is  entirely  different  from  that  of  steward- 
ship —  of  a  trust  held  under  another,  and  to  be  admin- 
istered with  reference  to  his  will.  This  position  is 
one  which  the  man  of  wealth  is  most  slow  to  take. 
Every  natural  feeling  resists  it.  But  not  till  this 
position  is  taken  will  the  man  himself  find  his  true 
place,  or  wealth  its  true  uses,  or  the  wealthy  them- 
selves the  highest  and  the  appropriate  blessedness 
which  it  can  confer. 

That  Mr.  Lawrence  took  this  position,  will  ap- 
pear by  an  extract  from  one  of  his  letters.  "  If," 
he  writes,  "  by  the  consecration  of  my  earthly  pos- 
sessions to  some  extent,  I  can  make  the  Christian 
character  practically  more  lovely,  and  illustrate,  in 
my  own  case,  that  the  highest  enjoyments  here  are 
promoted  by  the  free  use  of  the  good  things  intrusted 
to  us,  what  so  good  use  can  I  make  of  them  ?  I  feel 
that  my  stewardship  is  a  very  imperfect  one,  and  that 
my  use  of  these  good  things  might  be  extended  prof- 
itably to  myself." 

Hitherto  wealth  has  been  a  great  corrupter.  It 
has  inflamed  the  passions,  and  narrowed  the  heart, 


26 

and  made  it  sordid.  It  has  been  harder  for  a  rich 
man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  than  for  a 
camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle.  The  pro- 
bation of  wealth  has  been  more  perilous  than  that 
of  poverty.  But  let  this  broad  position  of  steward- 
ship be  taken,  and  under  it  let  the  characteristics 
before  mentioned  come  in ;  let  the  rich  man  no 
longer  reverse  in  its  spirit  the  precept  to  do  with  his 
might  what  his  hand  findeth  to  do  because  there  is 
no  work  in  the  grave,  and  refuse  to  do  any  thing  till 
he  goes  there,  and  because  he  is  going  there ;  let 
him  hold  always  his  own  heart  close  to  the  beating 
heart  of  humanity,  so  that  they  shall  throb  with  a 
common  pulsation,  —  and  these  evils  will  vanish,  and 
will  bear  away  with  them  many  of  the  chief  evils  of 
society.  The  man  rich  in  this  world  will  be  "  rich  in 
good  works,  ready  to  distribute,  willing  to  communi- 
cate." He  will  not  do  a  vain  work,  that  shall  have 
no  relation  to  the  great  plans  of  God ;  and  "  at  his 
end  be  a  fool."  He  will  lift  up  his  eyes  upon  a 
world  lying  in  wickedness,  and  in  consequent  suffer- 
ing, and  will  seek  to  remove  the  wickedness,  and 
to  relieve  the  suffering.  The  accumulated  and  con- 
centrated water  that  had  before  carried  desolation  in 
its  course,  and  left  its  channel  dry  and  dusty,  will 
now  show  a  long  track  of  verdure  where  it  flows  ;  it 
will  find  its  way  to  the  roots  of  a  thousand  flowers, 
that  shall  cover  the  earth  with  their  beauty,  and  fill 
the  air  with  their  perfume. 


27 

In  what  has  now  been  said,  some  traits  of  the 
character  of  Mr.  Lawrence  have  been  indicated. 
Something  more  of  him  you  may  wish  to  know,  and 
it  may  be  proper  for  me  to  state ;  but  it  must  be 
with  a  painful  sense  of  its  inadequacy.  Words  and 
descriptions  must  fail  to  convey  to  others  an  impres- 
sion of  what  he  was  to  his  friends.  This  must 
always  be  so  where  the  strength  of  a  character  lies 
so  much  as  did  his  in  the  affections.  You  may 
give  to  the  perished  flower  its  botanical  name  and 
scientific  description,  but  this  is  not  to  see  it  in 
its  living  beauty,  and  to  enter  the  sphere  of  its  fra- 
grance. 

Undoubtedly  he  was  a  man  of  great  original  pow- 
ers. On  this  point  I  have  had  but  one  opinion  since 
knowing  him.  His  mind  was  not  speculative,  dis- 
cursive, metaphysical ;  but  in  the  high  moral  quali- 
ties, in  decision  and  energy,  in  intuitive  perception 
and  sound  practical  judgment,  in  the  sensibilities 
and  affections,  and  in  the  imagination,  he  was  great. 
Like  all  remarkable  men  who  are  not  one-sided,  he 
had  large  faculties,  which  found  their  harmony  in 
their  conflict,  or  rather  in  their  balance.  He  was 
quick  and  tender  in  his  feelings,  yet  firm  ;  ardent  in 
his  affections,  yet  judicious  ;  large  in  his  gifts,  yet 
discriminating ;  he  was  a  keen  observer,  yet  kind  in 
his  feelings ;  he  had  a  fertile  and  shaping  imagination 
—  he  built  air  castles,  and  they  vanished,  and  then  he 
built  others ;  but  when  he  decided  to  build  any  thing 


28 

on  the  ground,  it  was  well  planned  and  promptly 
finished. 

His  tastes  were  natural  and  simple,  his  habits 
plain,  and  his  feelings  always  fresh,  genuine,  and 
youthful.  Not  even  the  smell  of  the  fire  of  pros- 
perity had  passed  on  him.  He  shunned  notoriety- 
He  had  a  strong  repugnance  to  all  affectation,  and 
pretence,  and  misplaced  finery.  A  young  man  with 
rings  on  his  fingers  had  small  chance  of  employment 
or  favor  from  him.  He  was  impatient  of  talk  when 
action  was  called  for,  and  of  all  attempts  to  substi- 
tute talk  for  action. 

His  command  over  the  English  language,  especially 
in  writing,  indicated  his  power.  Style  is  no  mechan- 
ical product,  that  can  be  formed  by  rules,  but  is 
the  outgrowth  and  image  of  the  mind  ;  and  his  had 
often  great  felicity  and  strength.  When  he  wrote 
under  the  impulse  of  his  feelings,  he  seemed  to 
impregnate  the  very  paper,  and  make  it  redolent  of 
them. 

He  loved  nature,  and  instead  of  becoming  insensi- 
ble to  it  as  years  came  on,  it  seemed  rather  to  open 
upon  him  like  a  new  revelation.  It  was  full  of  life 
and  of  teaching,  and  the  charms  of  natural  beauty 
were  heightened  by  those  associations  which  his  quick 
imagination  connected  with  its  objects  and  scenes. 
After   the  death  of    two  of    his  children,  he    says, 

"  Dear  S ,  and  R ,  speak  in  words   without 

sound  through  every  breeze,  and  in  every  flower,  and 


29 

in  the  fragrance  of  every  perfume  from  the  fields  or 
the  trees."  Years  ago,  after  a  long  confinement, 
with  little  hope  of  recovery,  he  visited,  when  first 
able  to  get  out,  the  Panorama  of  Jerusalem,  then 
on  exhibition  in  Boston,  and  remained  there  till 
the  scene  took  full  possession  of  his  mind.  Shortly 
after,  on  a  fine  day,  he  rode  out  to  Brookline; 
and  as  returning  health  threw  over  those  hills  a 
mantle  of  beauty  that  he  had  never  seen  before,  they 
were  immediately  associated  in  his  mkid  with  the 
Panorama  of  Jerusalem,  and  then  with  the  glories  of 
the  Jerusalem  above.  This  association  was  indisso- 
luble, and  he  would  take  his  friends  out  to  see  his 
'  Mount  Zion.'  In  1850,  he  says,  "  It  really  seems  to 
me  like  the  sides  of  Mount  Zion,  and  that  I  can  cling 
to  them  as  I  view  them." 

Soon  after  the  death  of  his  youngest  son,  a  storm 
rent  a  large  bough  from  one  of  the  oaks  that  shel- 
tered his  grave.  The  oak  bled,  and  when  he  saw  it, 
he  applied  it  to  himself.  The  next  time  he  visited 
Mount  Auburn,  the  gardener  had  removed  all  appear- 
ance of  injury,  and  covered  the  wound  with  what 
seemed  to  be  bark ;  and  he  fancied  that  the  remaining 
portions  of  the  tree  had  now  a  more  vigorous  growth. 
This  thrilled  him  —  it  was  a  sermon,  and  his  appli- 
cation of  it  will  be  seen  in  the  following  extract : 
"  And  then  again  the  calls,  as  I  visit  Mount  Auburn, 
speak  to  me  with  an  eloquence  that  no  tongue  can 
equal,  when  I  see  the  old  oak  holding  its  head  erect, 


30 

its  opposite  branches  more  extended  ;  its  leaves  have 
been  greener,  larger,  and  more  numerous,  as  its  whole 
nourishment  has  gone  into  one  side  of  the  tree  the 
past  year,  and  thus  have  taught  me  that  my  precious 
ones  secured,  would  encourage  me  to  cheer  on  such 
as  need  the  shade  and  encouragement  this  old  oak 
can  supply." 

Hear  him  again,  at  the  close  of  1851,  associating 
natural  beauty  with  social  blessings.  "  The  closing 
of  the  old  ye#r,"  says  he,  "  was  like  our  western  ho- 
rizon after  sunset,  bright  and  beautiful ;  the  opening 
of  the  new,  radiant  with  life,  light,  and  hope,  and 
crowned  with  such  a  costume  of  love  as  few  old 
fathers,  grandfathers,  and  uncles  can  muster." 

Thus  sensitive  to  the  pulsations  and  suggestions 
of  nature,  it  might  be  expected  that  he  would  be 
still  more  so  within  the  sphere  of  the  domestic  affec- 
tions. He  was ;  and  in  these,  few  men  have  been  as 
happy.  His  home  was  all  that  a  home  could  be  ;  and 
then,  like  Job,  he  had  his  children  about  him,  and 
his  children's  children.  Bereaved  of  two  of  his 
children,  he  could  still  say,  "  And  with  all  these  pre- 
cious ones  left,  it  seems  as  though  I  had  sources  of 
enjoyment  that  any  man  might  be  justified  in  craving. 
If  I  starve  my  body,  I  feed  my  spirit;  and  thus 
receive  my  full  share  of  the  good  things  of  life.  My 
greatest  trouble  is,  not  rendering  due  returns  for 
these."  This  is  a  charmed  circle  with  which  the 
stranger  may  not  intermeddle  ;   but  perhaps  a  single 


31 

extract,  showing  his  feelings  on  the  return  of  his  son 
from  abroad,  may  be  allowed.     "  The  intelligence  of 

son  "\y 's  arrival  in  New  York  preceded  his  arrival 

in  Boston  only  one  hour ;  and  the  effect  of  the  intel- 
ligence was  like  the  gas  which  is  called  laughing  gas, 
only  with  me  it  was  crying.  In  truth,  it  was  more 
than  I  could  stand  ;  and  I  allowed  nature  fair  play, 
and  cried,  and  gave  utterance  to  my  feelings  aloud 
and  alone,  as  I  did  not  wish  my  wife  to  know  how  it 
was  with  me.  By  the  time  W came,  I  was  self- 
possessed  in  a  good  degree,  and  for  three  days  I  have 
lived,  in  the  matter  of  enjoyment,  full  three  months." 
With  such  avenues  of  enjoyment  open,  though 
sometimes  pitied  as  an  invalid,  he  might  well  be,  as 
he  was,  a  most  cheerful  and  happy  man.  As  inti- 
mated in  an  extract  above,  his  abstemiousness  may 
have  made  him  more  keenly  alive  to  the  higher 
sources  of  enjoyment,  and  even  in  sensitive  good  he 
did  not  regard  himself  as  a  loser.  "  If,"  says  he, 
"  your  young  folks  want  to  know  the  true  meaning 
of  epicureanism,  tell  them  to  take  some  bits  of  coarse 
bread,  (one  ounce  and  a  little  more,)  soak  them  in 
three  gills  of  coarse  meal  gruel,  and  make  their  din- 
ner of  them  and  nothing  else,  beginning  very  hungry 
and  leaving  off  more  hungry.  The  food  is  delicious, 
and  such  as  no  modern  epicureanism  can  equal." 

But  man  has  wants  deeper  than  can  be  supplied 
by  wealth,  or  nature,  or    domestic    affections.     His 


32 

great  relations  are  to  his  God  and  to  eternity.  This 
Mr.  Lawrence  felt,  and  he  was  a  deeply  religious 
man.  His  trust  in  God,  and  his  hope  of  salvation 
through  Christ,  were  the  basis  of  his  character.  He 
believed  in  the  providence  of  God  as  concerned  in 
all  events,  and  as  discriminating  and  retributive  in 
this  world.  He  felt  that  he  could  trust  God  in  his 
providence  where  he  could  not  see.  "  The  events  of 
my  life,"  he  writes,  "have  so  far  been  ordered  in  a 
way  to  make  me  feel  that  I  know  nothing  at  the 
time  except  that  a  Father  rules  ;  and  his  discipline, 
however  severe,  is  never  more  so  than  is  required."  He 
believed  in  the  Bible,  and  saw  rightly  its  relation  to 
all  our  blessings.  "  What,"  he  writes  again,  "  should 
we  do  if  the  Bible  were  not  the  foundation  of  our 
system  of  self-government  \  and  what  will  become  of 
us  when  we  wilfully  and  wickedly  cast  it  behind 
us  I  "  He  read  the  Bible  morning  and  evening  in 
his  family,  and  prayed  with  them ;  and  it  may  aid 
those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  prayers  of  Thorn- 
ton, in  forming  a  conception  of  his  religious  charac- 
ter, to  know  that  he  used  them.  Family  religion  he 
esteemed  as  above  all  price  ;  and  when  he  first  learned 
that  a  beloved  relative  had  established  family  wor- 
ship, he  wept  for  joy.  He  distributed  religious  books 
very  extensively,  chiefly  those  of  the  American  Tract 
Society  and  of  the  Sunday  School  Union.  He  be- 
lieved in  revivals  of  religion,  and  prayed  for  them. 
In  1848,  he  wrote,  "  This  religious  awakening  among 


33 


your  college  students  is  among  the  blessings  that  our 
Father  vouchsafes  to  his  servants  who  labor  faith- 
fully in  their  work,  and  I  can  see  his  hand  as  plainly 
in  it  as  though  it  was  thrust  before  my  face  as  I  write 
this  sentence.  Let  us,  then,  bless  his  holy  name,  and 
thank  him  as  disciples  and  followers  of  Christ  the 
beloved,  and  urge  upon  these  young  men  to  come 
forward  as  '  doves  to  their  windows.'  If  my  work 
and  my  trusteeship  have  in  any  manner  been  instru- 
mental in  this  good  work  in  your  College,  it  will  be 
matter  of  grateful  thanksgiving  while  I  live."  Of 
the  religious  movement  in  Boston,  in  1849,  he  says, 
"Our  dead  Unitarianism  of  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago 
is  stirred  up,  and  the  deep  feelings  of  sin,  and  salva- 
tion through  the  Beloved,  are  awakened  where  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  but  indifference  and  coldness, 
and  my  hope  and  belief  is,  that  great  good  will  fol- 
low." Still  later  he  says,  "  And  now  let  us  turn  to 
matters  of  more  importance  —  the  awakening  of  the 
young  men  of  your  College  to  their  highest  interest, 
the  salvation  of  their  souls.  I  have  been  moved  to 
tears  in  reading  the  simple  statement  of  the  case,  and 
I  pray  God  to  perfect  the  good  work  thus  begun." 
Of  creeds  held  in  the  understanding,  but  not  influen- 
cing the  life,  he  thought  little ;  and  the  tendency  of 
his  mind  was  to  practical  rather  than  doctrinal  views. 
He  believed  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  a  Saviour, 
and  trusted  in  him  for  salvation.  He  was  a  man  of 
habitual  prayer.    The  last  time  I  visited  him,  he  said  to 


34 

me  that  he  had  been  restless  during  the  night,  and  that 
the  only  way  in  which  he  could  "  get  quieted  was  by 
getting  near  to  God ;  "  and  that  he  went  to  sleep 
repeating  a  prayer.  During  the  same  visit,  he  spoke 
strongly  of  his  readiness,  and  even  of  his  desire,  to 
depart.  He  viewed  death  with  tranquillity,  and  hope, 
and  preparation,  for  it  was  habitual  with  him. 

What  need  I  say  more]  At  midnight  the  sum- 
mons came,  —  and  his  work  was  done. 

The  vacancy  caused  by  such  a  death  is  wide,  and 
cannot  be  filled.  It  cannot  be  filled  to  affection,  to 
friendship,  to  those  who  were  cheered  and  strength- 
ened by  his  sympathy  and  aid.  If  it  can  possibly  be 
filled  to  this  College,  it  cannot  be  to  some  of  us.  It  is 
not  now  a  branch  from  the  old  oak  that  is  rent  away  ; 
itself  is  laid  low,  and  those  upon  whose  heads  the 
sun  of  trouble  "  beats  heavy,"  can  no  more  find  shel- 
ter under  its  broad  branches.  The  vacancy  cannot 
be  filled ;  but  his  name  will  stand  high  among  the 
benefactors  of  the  race,  and  his  example  and  influ- 
ence will  live  through  all  time. 

The  sphere  of  Mr.  Lawrence  and  his  line  of  life 
were  different  from  those  contemplated  by  the  most 
of  us.  But  success  in  life,  in  all  departments,  de- 
pends on  the  same  general  qualities ;  and  in  these,  as 
I  have  now  spoken  of  them,  he  may  well  be  an  ex- 
ample to  us.     Especially  would  I  ask  you  to  go  back 


35 

to  that  period  when  he  was  of  the  age  of  many  of 
you,  and  when,  as  he  uniformly  said,  the  foundation 
of  his  prosperity  was  laid.  Of  this  he  had  then  no 
distinct  foresight;  but  when  the  lines  of  life  that 
seemed  almost  parallel  had  diverged  widely,  he  could 
see  it,  and  could  say,  as  he  did,  "  The  difference 
between  doing  exactly  right  mid  a  little  wrong, 
makes  all  the  difference  between  success  and  failure 
in  life"  Oftener  than  young  men  suppose,  when 
they  know  it  not,  their  destiny  is  sealed  by  the  pro- 
cesses and  decisions  of  their  own  minds  before  they 
are  twenty.  How  great  and  precious  the  results  of 
such  a  life  !  How  different  from  those  of  a  different 
course !  How  striking  that  such  consequences  should 
depend  on  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  a  lad  in 
a  country  store  !  Who  can  estimate  the  capabilities 
wrapped  up  in  any  such  lad  1  Who,  especially,  can  say 
of  any  one  of  you,  what  may  be  depending  upon  the 
course  that  he  shall  take  from  this  time  onward  X  I 
feel,  my  friends,  that  this  will  take  hold,  not  on 
time  only,  but  on  eternity ;  and  I  entreat  you  to  be 
wise. 

Let  me  add  a  single  word  on  the  position  of  young 
men  in  our  Colleges  whose  facilities  of  education 
are  thus  furnished  by  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  and 
enlightened  patriotism,  and  Christian  benevolence. 
It  cannot  be,  my  friends,  that  you  are  under  no  obli- 
gation to  regard  the  spirit  in  which  these  are  given, 
and  to  do  your  part  in  securing  the  results  contem- 


36 


plated.  Of  this  young  men  are  too  often  reckless. 
They  sometimes  think  that  they  pay  for  their  educa- 
tion. No  one  pays  for  it.  If  paid  for  in  money,  few 
could  afford  it ;  but  for  the  sacrifices  that  have  been 
made,  and  are  making,  in  this  cause,  money  cannot 
pay.  There  is  in  them  a  spirit  of  love  that  contem- 
plates high  results,  intellectual,  moral,  spiritual ; 
that  yearns  for  these,  and  can  be  satisfied  with  noth- 
ing less.  Such  results  must  be  realized  in  our  insti- 
tutions, or  they  are  a  failure.  Who,  and  what,  then, 
is  the  young  man,  indolent,  self-indulgent,  profane, 
vicious,  who  can  enter  such  an  enclosure,  and  exhale 
an  influence  of  disaster  and  of  moral  death  %  Only 
in  and  through  you,  my  friends,  with  your  intelli- 
gent and  voluntary  cooperation,  can  the 'results  thus 
sought  be  secured.  Who,  then,  will  not  work  to- 
gether with  these  noble  benefactors  1  Who  will  not 
be  a  co-worker  with  God  \ 


God's  Provisions  and  Man's  Perversions. 


DISCOURSE 


DELIVERED   BEFOllE   THE 


CONGREGATIONAL  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION, 


TREMONT     TEMPLE,    BOSTON, 


MAY   29,    1855. 


BY  MARK  HOPKINS,  D.  D. 

President  of  Williams  College. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS   OP  T.  R.  MARVIN,  42  CONGRESS   STREET. 
1855. 


NOTE. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  the  following-  Discourse  might  have  a  controversial 
aspect.  In  yielding  it  for  publication,  the  author  would  say  that  he  has  never  been  a 
controversialist,  and  does  not  intend  to  be.  He  desires  to  guard  himself,  and,  if 
possible,  others,  against  the  common  weakness  and  wickedness  by  which  Christians  are 
alienated  in  their  feelings  as  they  approximate  each  other  in  their  views.  "What  they 
need  to  contend  against  is  not  so  much  Popery,  as  that  in  man  from  which  Fopery 
springs  ;  and  if  controversy  respecting  minor  points  could  be  conducted  in  the  light  of 
this  higher  truth,  its  bitterness  would  cease.  We  should  not  then  see  Englishmen  and 
Frenchmen  uniting  for  a  common  object,  and  Christians  contending  with  each  other.  It 
would  then  be  easy  for  those  mutually  conceding  to  each  other  the  essentials  of  Chris- 
tianity, to  discuss  modes  and  forms  in  the  kindest  spirit.  God  has  made  great  and 
common  provisions,  and  we  simply  inquire  by  what  modes,  under  these,  of  government 
and  training,  the  greatest  intelligence,  efficiency  and  piety  of  all  the  members  of  a 
church  may  be  produced.  Our  view  is,  that  the  highest  training  can  be  had  only 
through  freedom  and  responsibility;  that  if  men  are  to  be  trained  for  freedom  they 
must  have  freedom ;  if  for  responsibility,  that  it  must  be  laid  upon  them  ;  and  that 
with  Christian  men  at  least,  this  may  be  safely  done.  They  "  are  called  unto  liberty." 
They  are  best  governed  by  principles,  rather  than  by  rules  and  forms.  It  is  not  contro- 
versy, but  the  establishment  of  this  great  principle,  that  we  seek. 

Williams  College,  July  23, 1855. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by  T.  K.  Marvin,  in  the 
Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


DISCOURSE. 


To  secure  the  well-being  of  man,  is  the  great  practical 
problem  of  life ;  and  we  are  met  to-day,  Fathers  and 
Brethren,  because  we  believe  that  the  principles  which 
bind  us  together,  are  intimately  connected  with  that  well- 
being.  For  this,  in  all  its  forms,  physical  and  mental, 
individual  and  social,  temporal  and  eternal,  God  has  pro- 
vided the  materials  and  the  conditions.  In  doing  this,  as 
in  creating  the  earth  and  the  heavens,  and  in  moving  the 
planets  in  their  orbits,  he  has  asked  of  us  neither  counsel 
nor  aid.  So,  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  resistless  and 
unmodified  agency,  does  he  often  work,  but  not  so  does 
he  consummate  his  purpose  of  securing  human  well- 
being.  Having  provided  the  materials  and  conditions, 
for  their  adjustment  and  application,  he  waits  for  the  free 
and  intelligent  cooperation  of  man  ;  and  without  this,  the 
end  cannot  be  reached.  Tt  is  at  this  point  that  man  may 
become  an  intelligent  co-worker  with  God.  This  he  can 
do,  either  as  he  comprehends,  and  so  adopts,  the  plans  of 
God  ;  or  as  he  exercises  a  rational  faith,  where  he  cannot 
comprehend ;  and  the  capacity  thus  to  work  with  God,  is 
his  highest  distinction,  and  thus  to  work  is  his  only 
wisdom. 

There  can  be  no  well-being  except  through  the  mate- 
rials furnished,  and  the  conditions  appointed  by  God,  and 
when  these  are  adjusted  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of 


any  being,  he  will  enjoy  all  the  good  of  which  he  is  capa- 
ble. The  ephemeris  that  is  born  into  the  right  adjust- 
ment of  light  and  warmth,  and  sports  its  day,  has  all  the 
well-being  it  can  have.  The  measure  of  its  moments  and 
of  its  capacities  is  full.  Throughout  the  creation  of 
God,  materials  and  conditions  of  good  are  set  over  against 
capacities.  He  creates  no  want  which  may  not  be  met, 
capacity  which  may  not  be  filled.  If  there  be  failure,  it 
is  not  in  his  provision,  but  commences  with  the  agency  of 
the  creature  in  securing  the  materials  provided  by  him, 
and  in  conforming  to  his  conditions. 

Like  all  other  well-being,  that  of  man  must  result  from 
a  normal  activity.  This  may  be,  either  of  susceptibilities 
excited  by  an  appropriate  stimulus,  or  of  powers  acting 
upon  an  appropriate  object ;  and  when  every  suscepti- 
bility is  thus  awakened,  and  every  power  thus  goes  forth, 
each  observing  its  own  time  and  measure,  then  does  man 
reach  all  the  good  of  which  he  is  capable.  Such  essential 
stimulus  and  object,  as  of  light  to  the  eye,  and  God  for 
the  soul,  must  be  distinguished  from  mere  instrumentali- 
ties and  means,  which  are  to  be  valued  only  as  they  place 
man  more  readily  and  fully  in  the  right  relation  to  these  ; 
and  it  is  from  the  failure  to  make  this  distinction,  that  we 
have  latitudinarianism  on  the  one  hand,  and  bigotry  on 
the  other.  He  who  is  indifferent  to  essential  elements, 
who  believes  that  we  can  see  by  darkness  as  well  as  by 
light,  is  a  latitudinarian  ;  and  he  who  believes  that  no 
light  is  fit  to  see  by  that  has  not  been  refracted  through 
his  prism,  is  a  bigot.  Certain  conditions  must  be  complied 
with,  or  there  will  be  no  well-being  ;  but  yet  the  system 
under  which  we  are,  is,  in  this  respect,  one  of  great  flexi- 
bility and  leniency.  Perfect  health  can  be  insured  only 
by  a  perfect  conformity  to  organic  law  ;  and  still  there 
may  be  devised,  under  that  law,  different  combinations  of 
food,  and  systems  of  regimen,  that  shall  be  equally  good ; 
while   tolerable  health  is  compatible  with  even  a  wide 


range  of  partial  and  temporary  violation  of  law.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  say,  either  what  a  perfect  system  of 
tillage  is,  or  what  it  would  produce ;  and  yet  a  very  poor 
form  of  it  may  prevent  starvation.  In  these,  and  all  sim- 
ilar cases,  provisions  are  made  and  conditions  established 
by  God  ;  and  the  benefits  received  will  be  in  proportion 
to  our  application  of  the  provisions,  and  compliance  with 
the  conditions. 

The  materials  which  God  has  provided  for  the  physical 
well-being  of  man,  are  light,  warmth,  air,  water,  and  food. 
Not  one  of  these  can  be  spared,  for  no  one  can  there  be 
a  substitute.  It  is  upon  an  interaction  between  these  and 
the  vital  powers,  that  physical  well-being  depends  ;  and 
the  object  is,  so  to  adjust  them,  that  this  interaction  may 
best  take  place.  But  what  a  field  does  this  open  for 
human  industry  and  skill  !  What  is  the  larger  part  of  the 
labor  and  the  movement  of  life, — its  tillage,  its  building, 
its  dress,  its  commerce,  its  travel,  but  attempts  either  to 
procure  or  to  adjust  the  light  and  warmth  and  air  and 
water  and  food,  which  God  gives  ?  Having  health,  only 
the  right  application  of  these  is  needed  to  preserve  it ;  and 
when  it  is  impaired,  much  may  be  done  through  these  for 
its  restoration.  Here  there  is  room  for  every  variety  of 
opinion  respecting  climate  and  exposure,  ventilation  and 
dietetics  ;  and  perhaps  it  can  be  said  of  no  one  system,  that 
it  is  absolutely  the  best.  The  materials  appointed  by  God 
we  must  have  ;  but  whether  our  houses  shall  be  warmed 
by  wood  or  coal,  by  furnaces  or  fire-places ;  whether  we 
shall  have  our  water  from  aqueducts,  or  cisterns,  or  wells ; 
whether  our  light  shall  come  through  a  plain  window,  or 
a  bow-window,  through  one  that  is  square,  or  one  that  is 
pointed,  matters  little.  Even  light  through  painted  glass 
may  be  pleasing  to  the  children,  and  do  very  well  to  see 
by.  Only  let  the  materials  provided  by  God  be  used,  and 
it  is  of  little  moment  what  contrivances  we  may  adopt  in 
their  application. 


To  secure  the  intellectual  activity  of  man,  and  so  his 
well-being  intellectually,  God  has  surrounded  him  by 
objects  of  a  structure  the  most  beautiful,  and  varied,  and 
complex,  and  wonderful;  and  has  placed  him  in  the 
midst  of  a  succession  of  orderly,  and  yet  ever-varying 
changes,  that  bear  upon  his  well-being,  and  can  scarcely 
fail  to  quicken  his  investigations  into  causes,  and  struc- 
tures, and  processes,  and  results. 

And  here  again  the  mind  is  benefited,  not  directly  by 
means — as  schools,  and  colleges,  and  teachers  ;  but  only  as 
it  is  brought  into  direct  contact  with  the  materials  pro- 
vided by  God,  and  tries  its  strength  upon  the  questions 
involved  in  the  structures  and  processes  of  this  amazing 
scene  of  things. 

The  neglect  and  perversion  by  man,  of  God's  provisions 
for  his  physical  and  mental  well-being — his  gluttony  and 
drunkenness;  his  voluntary  ignorance  and  error,  need  no 
illustration. 

For  the  social,  and  civil,  and  religious  well-being  of 
man,  besides  the  teachings  of  natural  religion,  God  has 
ordained  in  his  Word  three  institutions,  in  signal  accord- 
ance with  our  constitution  and  wants.  These  are  Mar- 
riage, Civil  Government,  and  the  Church.  As  God  gave 
them,  they  are  perfectly  adapted  to  man.  They  are  not, 
indeed,  like  air  and  food,  the  very  things  by  which  we 
live  ;  but  they  ace,  in  some  form,  the  indispensable  chan- 
nels of  those  things  upon  which  our  spiritual  nature  does 
immediately  fix  and  depend.  Only  in  and  through  them 
can  we  have,  first,  the  joys  of  domestic  life,  and  families 
trained  up  for  society  and  for  God  ;  secondly,  security  in 
the  enjoyment  of  all  rights,  and  the  best  sphere  and  train- 
ing for  action  ;  and  thirdly,  conformity  to  God,  and  fitness 
for  heaven.  These  are  the  ends  ;  and  here,  too,  to  them 
should  all  forms  be  subordinated.  The  institutions  are 
from  God,  but  all  of  them  may  have  different  forms, 
which  here  become,   not  merely  forms,   but  methods  of 


reaching  the  ends  just  mentioned  ;  and  it  is  this  question 
of  methods,  under  the  name  of  forms,  that  is  now  deeply 
agitating  the  world.  Of  these,  all  are  not  equally  adapted 
to  our  nature.  Those  originally  instituted  by  God,  are  so 
adapted  in  the  highest  and  best  sense.  They  furnish  the 
least  possible  occasion  and  excitement  for  evil  passions ; 
they  open  to  all  the  widest  sphere  of  activity  and  of 
responsibility ;  and  their  whole  tendency  is,  to  elevate  the 
individual  and  the  species  in  the  highest  degree.  But 
when  man  lost  sympathy  with  God,  and  sought  to  work 
out,  through  his  institutions,  as  through  his  natural  gifts, 
ends  different  from  those  proposed  by  him,  it  became 
necessary  to  change  the  original  forms  for  those  which 
could  be  more  readily  and  efficiently  wielded  by  selfish- 
ness and  passion.  Thus  have  arisen  systems,  adapted  to 
our  nature  indeed,  and  with  consummate  skill,  but  only 
as  they  have  encouraged  and  given  scope  to  the  evil  pas- 
sions of  men,  and  have  addressed  themselves  to  their 
fears  and  weaknesses ;  systems  which  have  perpetuated 
themselves,  not  by  the  elevation,  but  by  the  degradation 
of  the  people.  They  claim  to  be  either  identical,  or  sub- 
stantially the  same  with  the  original  institutions;  but  they 
have  been  so  changed,  and  so  adapted  to  other  ends,  that 
it  is  as  if  a  ploughshare,  which  is  substantially  the  same 
as  a  sword,  should  be  gradually  beaten  into  that,  and 
should  claim,  all  through  the  process,  and  at  the  end  of  it, 
to  be  a  ploughshare  still. 

Now  in  respect  to  these  changes  and  perversions,  we 
hold  that  all  the  provisions  made  by  God,  and  especially 
the  three  great  institutions  mentioned  above,  have  had  an 
analogous  history.  Selfishness  and  passion  would  natu- 
rally work  alike  through  them  all.  In  each,  we  say,  that 
God  has  either  established  or  indicated  the  general  form 
which  he  prefers  ;  and  that  it  may  be  shown  by  an  exam- 
ination of  our  nature,  and  of  the  past — by  philosophy  and 
by  history — that  if  the  full  benefit  of  the  institutions  is  to 


8 

be  reached,  we  must  adopt,  not  only  them,  but  the  gene- 
ral forms  in  which  they  were  given  ;  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing,  those  which  are  best  adapted  to  the  nature  of 
man.  These  points,  particularly  the  analogy  of  their  his- 
tory, we  now  propose  to  consider. 

The  object  of  Marriage,  as  has  been  said,  is  to  secure 
domestic  happiness,  and  the  right  nurture  and  training  of 
children  for  society  and  for  heaven.  Doubtless,  also,  it 
was  intended  to  be  an  emblem  of  the  spiritual  union  be- 
tween God  and  his  people  under  the  old  dispensation,  and 
of  Christ  and  his  church  under  the  new.  As  originally 
instituted,  it  consisted  in  the  union  of  one  man  with  one 
woman  for  life,  without  the  power  of  divorce,  except  for 
one  cause.  In  this  form,  and  prompted  by  affection,  it 
could  not  well  be  perverted  to  the  purposes  of  lust  and 
avarice,  but  was  perfectly  adapted  to  promote  the  highest 
and  purest  earthly  happiness.  So  would  the  earth  be 
most  rapidly  replenished ;  so  would  instinct  and  passion 
be  most  ennobled  by  a  union  with  affection  ;  so,  having 
the  whole  care  of  both  parents,  would  families  be  best 
provided  for  and  trained  ;  so  would  the  example  of  parents 
incite  children  to  a  similar  union,  and  symbolize  one  still 
higher.  The  institution  was  from  Heaven,  its  spirit  was 
that  of  Heaven,  it  tended  to  Heaven.  After  the  intro- 
duction of  sin,  it  was  indeed  impossible  that  all  the  bene- 
fits originally  intended  to  flow  from  the  institution  should 
be  enjoyed ;  but  it  was  still  an  institution  of  God,  calcu- 
lated in  its  form  to  counteract  the  spirit  of  selfishness  and 
unkindness  and  passion,  and  to  remain  the  source  of  the 
best  earthly  happiness  left  us  by  the  fall. 

But  this  institution,  in  the  form  which  God  gave  it,  man 
would  not  retain.  How  soon  he  departed  from  it  we  do 
not  know  ;  but  very  early,  and  in  its  place,  he  substituted 
polygamy,  and  the  power  of  divorce  by  the  husband 
almost  at  will.     And  so  far  was  the  original  spirit  of  the 


institution  lost,  even  among  the  Israelites,  that  its  an- 
nouncement by  Christ  in  its  strictness,  was  received  by 
his  disciples  with  the  greatest  surprise,  and  with  the 
strange  assertion  that  it  would  be  better  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  marriage,  than  to  be  under  such  restrictions. 
For  ages,  God  had  permitted,  as  he  still  permits,  his  own 
institution  to  be  thus  perverted,  because  of  the  hardness  of 
men's  hearts.  Rather  than  put  an  end  to  human  proba- 
tion, he  chose  to  give  a  wide  range  to  passion  and  selfish- 
ness, and  to  suffer  them  to  work  out,  in  some  measure, 
their  results.  In  the  mean  time  God  had  always  had  a 
witness  in  the  higher  instincts  and  better  promptings  of 
at  least  a  portion  of  the  race  ;  and  through  these,  and  the 
authority  of  Christ,  the  institution  has  been  preserved  in 
the  earth. 

Respecting  the  conflict  between  marriage  as  God  gave 
it,  on  the  one  hand,  and  polygamy  and  those  forms  of 
licentiousness  by  which  its  spirit  is  repudiated,  on  the 
other,  we  can  enter  upon  no  details.  We  can  only 
observe  in  general, 

1.  That  the  institution,  as  God  gave  it,  has  been 
rejected  by  the  majority  of  the  race.  Learned  writers 
have  shown  that  polygamy  was  allowed,  not  only  among 
the  Hebrews,  but  also  among  all  the  ancient  nations.  It 
is  now  allowed  in  all  Mohammedan,  and  in  most,  if  not 
all  heathen  countries,  to  say  nothing  of  a  portion  of  our 
own ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  in  some  countries  where 
marriage  is  sanctioned  by  law,  faithfulness  to  its  obliga- 
tions has  been  the  exception,  rather  than  the  rule. 

2.  But  we  remark  secondly,  that  the  tendency  to  evade 
the  true  spirit  of  God's  institution,  has  been  especially  strong 
among  the  great,  the  wealthy,  and  the  fashionable.  These 
classes  have  seemed  to  claim  a  particular  dispensation  to 
disregard  this  institution.  In  general,  heathen  and  Mo- 
hammedan kings  and  rulers,  nobles  and  men  of  high 
standing,  have  had  wives  limited  in  number  only  by  their 

2 


10 

ability  to  support  them  ;  and  in  Christian  countries,  the 
tendency  in  this  direction,  of  a  court  and  an  aristocracy, 
of  wealth  and  fashion,  is  but  too  well  known. 

3.  Polygamy  can  plead  a  high  antiquity,  and  the 
example  of  men  distinguished  for  piety.  The  teachings 
of  our  Saviour  respecting  marriage  and  divorce,  plainly 
imply  the  condemnation  of  polygamy  ;  but  so  ancient  was 
it  then,  so  had  it  been  practiced  by  the  Jewish  Fathers, 
even  by  Abraham  himself;  so  had  it  become  incorporated 
into  the  habits  of  thought  and  action  among  the  Jews, 
that  nothing  but  divine  authority  could,  in  that  day,  have 
withstood  the  force  of  such  examples,  and  of  the  argu- 
ment from  the  antiquity  of  the  institution. 

4.  As  marriage  places  a  restraint  upon  the  passions  and 
the  selfishness  of  men,  its  adherents  have  always  been,  if 
not  persecuted,  yet  ridiculed,  by  those  who  discard  it,  as 
over-strict  and  puritanical,  as  behind  the  age  and  wanting 
in  large  and  liberal  views.  Marriage  claims  to  be  a  divine 
institution  ;  a  true  regard  to  it  involves  the  recognition  of 
a  divine,  invisible  and  holy  superintendence,  and  it  is  this 
which  has  always  met  with  the  most  decided  hostility  of 
a  portion  of  the  race. 

5.  History  condemns  polygamy.  This  shows  that 
while  there  may  be  a  measure  of  domestic  happiness  and 
national  prosperity  in  connection  with  polygamy,  yet  that 
it  is  incompatible  with  the  full  blessings  of  domestic  life 
for  the  married  pair,  with  the  best  nurture  and  training  of 
children,  and  with  the  high  and  permanent  prosperity  of 
a  state.  It  must  make  the  rich  voluptuaries,  and  deprive 
the  poor  of  their  rights  ;  it  must  sell  and  degrade  woman, 
and  cause  alienations  of  affection,  and  contentions  in  fam- 
ilies, and  the  neglect  of  children.  Wherever  it  has  been 
established,  there  has  been  stealthy,  if  not  visible  decay  ; 
and  as  the  institution  of  God  has  been  more  and  more 
widely  departed  from,  society  has  tended  more  and  more 
to  dissolution. 


11 

With  these  general  considerations,  we  next  proceed  to 
consider  Civil  Government.  This,  irrespective  of  any 
particular  form,  springs  so  directly  from  the  nature  of  man, 
and  his  necessary  relations,  that  it  is  generally  conceded 
to  be  from  God.  Its  ends  are  security,  scope,  and  train- 
ing— the  fullest  security  of  all  rights  of  person  and  prop- 
erty, the  widest  scope  compatible  with  this,  for  all  activ- 
ity, and  the  training  of  the  powers  to  submission  to  law 
on  the  one  hand,  and  to  self-respect  on  the  other.  Of 
these,  security  has  been  chiefly  regarded,  and  has  too 
often  been  attained  by  abridging  the  sphere  of  individual 
responsibility  and  activity ;  thus  cramping  energy,  and 
repressing  the  growth  and  distorting  the  natural  form  of 
society. 

That  these  ends  may  be  best  secured  by  a  republican 
form  of  government — by  free  institutions  fairly  applying 
the  principles  of  liberty  and  equality — need  not  be  proved 
in  this  country  and  at  this  day.  This,  therefore,  is  the 
form,  as  we  contend,  indicated,  if  not  instituted,  by  God  ; 
and  while  we  concede  that  much  of  good  may  be  enjoyed 
under  other  forms,  we  yet  say  that  only  through  this  can 
the  three  great  ends  just  mentioned  be  fully  attained. 

That  this  is  the  form  indicated  by  God,  is  evident,  not 
from  speculation  merely,  but  from  that  form  of  govern- 
ment which  he  gave  his  own  people,  and  from  the  circum- 
stances attending  their  change  of  that  form.  As  instituted 
by  God,  the  government  of  the  Israelites  was  a  Common- 
wealth ;  and  from  their  division  into  tribes,  it  bore,  in 
some  respects,  a  resemblance  to  that  of  these  States. 
Though  Moses  was  brought  up  in  a  court,  he  made  no 
provision  for  monarchy,  or  for  any  permanent  order  of 
nobility.  Joshua,  after  the  conquest  of  Canaan,  retired, 
as  did  Washington,  to  private  life,  with  no  attempt  to 
secure  for  himself,  or  his  descendants,  hereditary  advan- 
tages ;  and  the  nation,  except  as  they  were  punished  for 
their  idolatry,  prospered  as  a  Commonwealth  for  more  than 
four  hundred  years. 


12 

Some  have  said  that  this  was  a  theocracy.  But  how 
was  it  a  theocracy,  more  than  any  republican  government 
must  he?  A  republican  government  is  not  one  of  force. 
The  moment  it  becomes  so,  though  the  form  may  remain, 
the  spirit  has  departed.  It  implies  principle,  and  a  subjec- 
tion to  the  rule  of  conscience  and  of  God.  God  did, 
indeed,  give  the  laws  of  the  Jewish  state ;  but  the  ques- 
tion about  the  form  of  a  government,  does  not  turn  on  the 
origin  of  the  laws,  as  given  directly  by  God,  or  indirectly 
through  the  people,  but  on  the  mode  in  which  they  are 
administered.  God  did  not  appear,  in  person,  to  administer 
these  laws.  He  instituted  a  commonwealth,  a  republic, 
in  distinction  from  a  monarchy  ;  its  laws  were  formally 
adopted  by  the  people,*  and  though  requiring  for  its  full 
success,  as  republics  now  do,  a  recognition  of  the  supre- 
macy of  Jehovah,  yet  it  was  to  be  administered  by  men, 
precisely  as  governments  are  now. 

But  of  this  form,  the  Jews  became  weary,  and  asked 
Samuel  to  give  them  a  king.  They  wished  to  be  like  the 
heathen  around  them.  And  here  again,  as  in  polygamy, 
God  permitted  them  to  try  the  experiment,  because  of  the 
hardness  of  their  hearts;  but  his  expressions  of  displeasure, 
and  his  warnings  of  the  consequences,  were  as  full  and 
explicit  as  we  anywhere  find  against  polygamy.  It  was 
regarded  by  God  as  a  rejection  of  himself,  and  of  the 
same  character  as  the  rebellions  in  the  wilderness.  "  For 
they  have  not,"  said  he  to  Samuel,  "  rejected  thee,  but 
they  have  rejected  me,  that  I  should  not  reign  over  them. 
According  to  all  the  works  which  they  have  done  since 
the  day  that  I  brought  them  up  out  of  Egypt,  even  unto 
this  day,  wherewith  they  have  forsaken  me,  and  served 
other  gods,  so  do  they  also  unto  thee.  Now  therefore," 
that  is,  because  of  the  hardness  of  their  hearts,  "  hearken 
unto  their  voice  :  howbeit,  yet  protest  solemnly  unto  them, 
and  show  them  the  manner  of  the  king  that  shall  reign 
over  them."     Then  follows  a  statement  of  the  results  of 

*  Exodus  xix.  and  xxiv. 


13 

such  a  change — of  the  concentration  of  power  and  wealth, 
of  the  heavy  burdens  of  taxation,  of  the  change  of  men 
and  women  from  independence  and  freedom,  to  be  the 
dependents  and  tools  of  power,  and  of  the  organization  of 
standing  armies  to  perpetuate  that  power;  and  they  were 
told,  "  Ye  shall  cry  out  in  that  day  because  of  your  king, 
which  ye  shall  have  chosen  you.  And  the  Lord  will  not 
hear  you  in  that  day."*  But  though  thus  fully  warned, 
"the  people  refused  to  obey  the  voice  of  Samuel,  and 
they  said,  Nay,  but  we  will  have  a  king  over  us,  that  we 
also  may  be  like  all  the  nations."  Could  God  have  indi- 
cated more  explicitly  his  view  of  the  tendencies  of  mon- 
archy, or  his  preference  for  free  institutions  ? 

But  here,  too,  we  observe,  1st,  that  those  who  have 
adhered  to  the  form  of  Civil  Government  thus  evidently 
preferred  by  God,  have  been  in  the  minority.  When  the 
object  came  to  be  the  selfish  acquisition  of  power,  without 
regard  to  the  rights  and  best  good  of  the  people,  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  the  forms  best  adapted  to  give  free  scope 
to  their  activity,  in  the  pursuit  of  individual  welfare,  and 
to  react  favorably  upon  their  whole  spiritual  life,  as 
rational  and  free,  would  be  superseded  by  those  which, 
while  they  might  confer  security  from  others,  should  make 
the  ruled  the  tools  and  the  prey  of  the  rulers.  Selfishness 
operates  uniformly,  and  the  constant  pressure  of  a  corrupt 
tendency  has  been  too  powerful  for  the  vigilance  of  prin- 
ciple ;  and  thus  the  great  mass  of  the  race  have  been  mon- 
archists by  interest,  by  principle,  by  habit,  by  association, 
or  by  necessity.  Here,  too,  the  higher  instincts  of  hu- 
manity could  never  be  wholly  repressed.  Always  among 
the  nobler  races,  there  have  been  yearnings  for  liberty, 
and  those  who  have  been  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives 
for  her  sake. 

2.  Monarchy  has  been  sustained  by  the  wealth,  and 
pomp,  and  fashion  of  the  world.  From  its  concentration 
of  power,  and  consequently  of  wealth,  from  its  control  of 

*  1  Samuel  viii. 


14 

the  labor  and  property  of  the  masses,  it  could  not  fail  to 
surround  itself  with  all  that  is  striking  and  magnificent  in 
architecture,  with  all  that  is  costly  and  splendid  in  dress 
and  equipage,  with  all  that  is  beautiful  and  exquisite  in 
art.  It  has  naturally  established  artificial  points  of  eti- 
quette, and  entrenched  itself  within  ceremonies  and  forms  ; 
it  has  addressed  itself  to  the  imaginations  of  the  people  by 
pomp  and  shows ;  it  has  set  up  the  doctrine  of  a  divine 
right,  and  maintained  it  by  "the  last  argument  of  kings," 
thus  claiming  the  sanction  of  God,  and  sometimes  even 
divine  worship.  All  this  has  gathered  around  it  the  talent 
of  the  country  ;  has  been  connected,  in  the  minds  of  the 
people,  with  the  real  blessings  they  have  enjoyed  in  con- 
nection with  it ;  has  associated  with  the  court  and  its 
usages,  refinement,  elegance,  taste,  fashion  ;  and  has  cre- 
ated a  thorough  distaste  for  the  natural  plainness  and  sim- 
plicity of  free  institutions,  and  an  aversion  to  them. 

3.  Monarchy  can  claim  a  high  antiquity,  and  the  sup- 
port of  illustrious  men.  It  goes  back  to  the  time  of 
Abraham,  and  aside  from  the  Bible,  it  might  not  be  possi- 
ble to  show  that  it  was  not  the  primitive  form.  So  soon 
had  the  forms  of  freedom  disappeared  under  the  love  of 
power  and  the  general  corruption. 

4.  Free  institutions,  those  preferred  by  God,  have  been 
persecuted.  The  ends  of  polygamy  do  not  require  that  it 
should  persecute  marriage,  but  monarchy  forms  to  itself 
an  interest  distinct  from  that  of  the  people  ;  it  becomes  a 
permanent,  embodied,  self-perpetuating  thing,  with  quick 
instincts  for  self-preservation,  esteeming  no  crime  so  great 
as  interference  with  itself,  and  utterly  unscrupulous  in  its 
use  of  subtilty  or  force  for  the  attainment  of  its  ends. 
With  such  a  separate  interest,  it  naturally  becomes  a  per- 
secuting power.  So  has  it  ever  been,  and,  where  it  can 
be,  so  is  it  now.  It  has  driven  freedom  into  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  mountains,  into  dens  and  caves,  often  leaving 
upon  the  earth  scarcely  a  place  for  the  sole  of  its  foot ;  and 


15 

it  was  only  by  being  removed  across  the  ocean,  and  into 
the  wilderness,  that  the  germ  of  a  great  republic  could  be 
nursed  into  a  strength  that  monarchy  could  not  crush. 

5.    Free  institutions   are    sustained,   and   monarchy  is 
condemned,  by  history. 

The  Jews  were  prosperous,  at  times,  under  a  monarchy  ; 
but  the  form  of  a  government  is  one  of  those  constant 
elements  involving  tendencies  that  will,  sooner  or  later, 
become  effect,  and  the  general  habits  of  the  people,  and 
the  alternations  inevitable  where  so  much  depends  upon 
one  man,  show  the  disastrous  tendency  of  the  system. 
Under  forms  of  its  own  choosing,  the  same  amount  of 
wickedness  will  work  more  effectively;  and  they  went  on, 
fluctuating,  till  they  reached  a  point  of  corruption  which 
God  could  not  tolerate  in  his  people,  and  till  he  gave  them 
up  to  captivity.  So  only  could  he  effectually  teach  them  to 
renounce  idolatry  and  monarchy.  And  as  with  polygamy, 
so  has  it  been  with  monarchy  everywhere.  Everywhere 
under  it  have  the  masses  been  degraded  ;  nowhere  have 
security  and  an  adequate  sphere  and  right  training  been 
attained  as  they  should  have  been.  If  the  civilization  has 
been  high,  it  has  been  limited  and  partial.  The  people 
have  not  been  educated.  Security  from  outward  foes 
they  have  had,  but  not  from  the  exactions  and  oppres- 
sions of  tyranny  ;  and  by  being  deprived  of  all  partici- 
pation in  political  affairs,  they  are  excluded  from  a 
great  and  indispensable  field  for  both  training  and  action. 
A  republican  government  is  of  itself  a  great  school,  and 
involves  a  training,  and  opens  spheres  for  honorable 
ambition,  unknown  to  a  monarchy.  There  is  in  it  a 
quickening  power  pervading  the  whole  mass.  Hence, 
imperfectly  as  the  theory  of  a  free  government  has  been 
understood,  the  highest  achievements  in  arts  and  in  arms, 
in  poetry  and  eloquence,  the  brightest  spots  in  the 
history  of  the  race,  have  been  where  there  was  the  most 
freedom.  And  so  it  is  now.  Wherever  monarchy  now 
is,  there  is  either  an  ignorance  and  degradation  too  deep  to 


16 

appreciate  their  own  wretchedness,  or  an  uneasiness  and 
restlessness,  from  a  deep  consciousness  of  great  and  radical 
misadjustments  in  the  arrangements  of  the  social  order. 

We  now  come  to  the  Church.  Here  we  find  the  high- 
est and  most  central  interest  of  man,  and  hence  that  to 
which  all  others  must  ultimately  be  subservient — about 
which  they  must  revolve.  The  object  of  the  church  is, 
to  produce  likeness  to  God,  as  he  was  manifested  in  Christ  ; 
thus  originating  and  strengthening  affinities  which  will 
insure  peace  on  earth,  and  a  holy  and  happy  heaven.  It 
is  to  give,  not  outward  security,  but  inward  peace  ;  to 
furnish  a  sphere  for  spiritual  activity,  to  train  men  for 
such  activity  here,  and  to  fit  them  to  dwell  with  God. 

And  here  the  analogy  we  would  trace  requires  that  we 
should  consider  both  the  old  dispensation  and  the  new, 
because  the  conflict  under  the  old,  chiefly  respected  the 
object  of  worship,  and  under  the  new,  its  forms. 

Under  the  old  dispensation,  as  always,  God  presented 
himself  as  the  sole  object  of  worship.  But  if  men  would 
reject  the  forms  proposed  by  God,  much  more  would 
they  reject  God  himself;  and,  accordingly,  they  almost 
immediately  lapsed  into  polytheism  and  idolatry.  "  When 
they  knew  God,  they  glorified  him  not  as  God."  "  They 
did  not  like  to  retain  God  in  their  knowledge."  "  Pro- 
fessing themselves  to  be  wise,  they  became  fools,  and 
changed  the  glory  of  the  uncorruptible  God,  into  an  image 
made  like  to  corruptible  man,  and  to  birds,  and  to  four- 
footed  beasts  and  creeping  things." 

And  here  again,  more  emphatically  than  under  the 
other  heads,  we  observe,  first,  that  the  worshipers  of 
the  true  God  were  greatly  in  the  minority.  With  the 
exception  of  the  children  of  Israel,  the  whole  world  fell 
away  to  polytheism  and  idolatry  ;  and  even  the  Israelites 
were  retained  in  their  allegiance  to  God,  only  by  his 
constant  and   special    interpositions.      Such  was  at  one 


17 

time  the  apostasy  of  the  ten  tribes,  that  the  prophet  of 
God  said,  "I,  even  I  only,  am  left." 

2.  Idolatry  has  been  sustained  by  the  wealth,  and  art, 
and  pomp,  and  fashion  of  the  world.  Among  most 
heathen  nations  it  has  been  to  illustrate  and  glorify  their 
religion,  that  wealth  has  been  poured  out  most  freely, 
and  that  their  highest  forms  of  art,  whether  in  architec- 
ture, sculpture,  or  painting,  have  been  reached.  What, 
but  for  their  mythology,  would  have  been  the  art  of  the 
Greeks  ? 

3.  Idolatry  can  claim  a  high  antiquity  and  the  support 
of  illustrious  men.  Solomon  was  an  idolater  for  a  time. 
The  heathen  sages  were  idolaters.  The  Egyptians,  the 
Assyrians,  the  Persians,  the  Greeks,  the  Romans,  all  the 
chief  nations  with  their  great  men,  were  idolaters.  And 
so  great  was  the  antiquity  of  their  idolatry  and  so  was  it 
sustained,  as  now  among  the  Hindoos,  by  a  fabulous 
literature,  that  for  thousands  of  years,  it  would  have  been 
impossible,  except  by  divine  revelation,  to  show  that  it 
was  not  the  primitive  form  of  belief  and  of  worship. 

4.  The  worshipers  of  the  true  God  were  persecuted. 
The  various  forms  of  false  religion  tolerated  each  other, 
but  they  were  agreed  in  despising  and  persecuting  the 
true  worshipers.  These  were  regarded  as  illiberal,  intol- 
erant, over-scrupulous,  as  behind  the  age  and  unfashion- 
able. So  was  Elijah  regarded  at  the  court  of  Ahab,  and 
they  sought  his  life.  These  are  the  very  men  who  "had 
trial  of  cruel  mockings  and  scourgings,  yea  moreover  of 
bonds  and  imprisonment :  they  were  stoned,  they  were 
sawn  asunder,  were  tempted,  were  slain  with  the  sword." 
As  idolatry  always  connected  itself  with  the  state,  it 
could  wield  the  civil  power  ;  and  when  it  chose,  want  of 
conformity  became  rebellion,  and  prayer  to  God  a  capi- 
tal offence. 

5.  Idolatry  is  condemned,  and  the  true  religion  is  sus- 
tained, by  history.      When  men  changed  the  object  of 

3 


18 

worship,  they  necessarily  changed  its  forms.  These  were 
lowered  and  debased,  and  made  subservient  to  the  selfish- 
ness of  the  priests,  and  to  the  fanaticism  and  sensuality  of 
the  worshipers,  till  the  character  of  the  gods,  and  the 
forms  of  religion  became  the  most  dreadful  source  of  cor- 
ruption, and  the  most  formidable  obstacle  to  the  progress 
of  truth  and  of  purity.  'The  light  that  was  in  them 
became  darkness,  and  how  great  was  that  darkness.' 
Man  cannot  be  stationary.  If  not  elevated,  he  will  be 
debased.-  But  he  can  be  elevated  only  by  communion 
with  that  which  is  above  him  ;  and  when  the  true  idea  of 
God  is  lost,  permanent  progress  is  hopeless.  The  true 
ends  of  society  never  have  been,  and  never  can  be  reached 
under  polytheism  and  idolatry.  However  imagination 
and  poetry  may  gild  certain  forms  of  heathen  mythology, 
it  has  yet  been  true  of  those  who  did  not  like  to  retain 
God  in  their -knowledge,  that  he  has  given  "them  over 
to  a  reprobate  mind,  to  do  those  things  which  are  not 
convenient ;  being  filled  with  all  unrighteousness,  forni- 
cation, wickedness,  covetousness  ;  full  of  envy,  murder, 
debate,  deceit,  malignity ;  whisperers,  backbiters,  haters 
of  God,  despiteful,  proud,  boasters,  inventors  of  evil 
things,  disobedient  to  parents,  without  understanding, 
covenant  breakers,  without  natural  affection,  implacable, 
unmerciful." 

Till  the  coming  of  Christ,  then,  God  had  given  men 
marriage,  and  they  made  it  polygamy  ;  he  had  given 
republicanism,  and  they  made  it  monarchy ;  he  had  given 
the  worship  of  the  One  Only  Living  and  True  God,  and 
they  had  made  it  polytheism  and  idolatry.  How  won- 
derful his  forbearance !  How  great  the  mystery  that  he 
should  suffer  his  own  institutions  to  be  thus  overborne 
and  comparatively  lost,  and  idols  to  be  substituted  for 
himself! 

But  when  Christ  came,  he  introduced  a  new  dispensa- 


19 

tion  and  a  radical  change.  Forms,  as  no  longer  typical, 
lost  their  importance.  The  new  wine  of  his  religion  he 
would  not  put  into  those  old  bottles,  the  new  cloth  he 
would  not  join  to  the  old  garment.  The  middle  wall  of 
partition  between  Jew  and  Gentile  was  taken  away,  and 
a  universal  and  spiritual  religion,  applicable  to  all  times, 
and  places,  and  persons,  and  sublimely  simple  in  its  forms, 
was  introduced.  In  its  spirit,  as  expressive  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  God's  moral  government,  it  was  identical  with 
the  former  dispensation  ;  but  in  its  universality,  and  indif- 
ference to  forms,  it  was  its  opposite.  All  that  was  national, 
technical,  local,  formal,  it  rejected;  all  that  was  spiritual, 
holy,  universal,  it  retained ;  and  in  this  mingled  uni- 
formity and  contrariety  we  see  strong  evidence  that  both 
were  from  God.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  building  up 
hierarchies,  or  constructing  organizations  through  which 
ambition  and  avarice  might  be  gratified.  It  went  to  the 
individual;  it  knew  no  man  except  as  a  sinner;  and,  not 
by  sacrifices,  or  penances,  or  works,  but  as  a  free  gift 
through  the  one  perfect  Sacrifice,  it  offered  deliverance 
from  the  dominion  and  the  penalty  of  sin,  a  moral  and 
vital  union  with  God  through  Christ,  and  a  consequent 
place  as  a  child  and  subject  in  his  one  family  and  in  his 
eternal  kingdom.  Making  the  law  of  God  the  rule,  and 
Christ  the  model  of  life,  it  required  love  to  him,  and  love 
to  his  followers  for  his  sake ;  and  having  thus  laid  the 
basis  of  moral  union  and  progress,  it  left  men  to  the 
freeest  activity  of  their  own  powers,  and  encouraged  the 
largest  individual  responsibility  as  essential  to  the  highest 
training  of  those  powers.  As  it  knew  men  before  they 
became  Christians  only  as  sinners,  so  afterwards  it  knows 
them  only  as  holding  the  same  relation  to  God,  and  as 
equally  bound  to  use  all  their  faculties  for  him.  All 
were  received  on  the  same  conditions,  bought  with  the 
same  price,  had  been  changed  into  the  same  likeness,  had 
access  to  God  in  the  same  way,  and  were  preparing  for  the 


20 

same  heaven.  For  such,  the  simplest  possible  rites  were 
provided,  to  remind  them  of  the  sin  from  which  they 
had  been  washed  ;  of  the  sufferings  by  which  they  had 
been  redeemed  ;  and  to  give  visibility  to  the  church ; 
pastors  and  teachers  were  given  for  their  instruction  and 
edification  ;  and  there  was  laid  down  a  code  of  discipline, 
easy  of  application  and  wholly  moral  in  its  power.  If 
the  offending  person  would  not  hear  his  brother  alone,  or 
with  one  or  two  others,  the  church  was  to  be  told,  and  no 
provision  was  made  for  a  further  appeal.  This  was  all. 
The  ends  for  which  the  church  was  instituted  required 
nothing  more,  and  its  unity  was  to  be  found,  not  in  any 
external  organization  extending  over  different  countries,  or 
even  over  the  same,  but  in  the  moral  likeness  of  its  mem- 
bers to  each  other,  and  in  a  common  relation  to  Christ. 

And  must  these  forms  and  arrangements,  so  simple,  so 
beautiful,  so  worthy  of  God  and  accordant  with  the  char- 
acter of  Christ,  so  well  adapted  to  promote  the  spirituality 
of  the  individual  and  the  efficiency  of  the  church,  and 
through  which  her  great  primitive  conquests  were  made — 
must  these  too  be  perverted  ?  Must  the  last  and  greatest 
manifestation  of  the  divine  mercy  be  the  occasion  of  the 
last  and  greatest  exhibition  of  human  perverseness  and 
malignant  ingenuity  ?  So,  if  the  old  leaven  of  wickedness 
were  not  destroyed,  we  might  anticipate  that  it  would  be  ; 
so  prophecy  foretold  that  it  would  be — the  man  of  sin  must 
be  revealed  ;  so  all  Protestants  believe  that  it  has  been. 

In  this  perversion  we  suppose  the  first  step  to  have  been 
a  gradual  distinction,  unknown  in  the  first  century, 
between  presbyters  and  bishops,  and  the  growth,  from 
that,  of  prelatical  Episcopacy.  When  once  there  was  a 
bishop,  with  a  diocese,  the  same  principle  would  require 
au  archbishop ;  for  as  the  world  was  then  situated  politi- 
cally, who  was  to  limit  or  define  the  diocese,  or  to  settle 
the  conflicting  claims  of  bishops  ?  And  if  pastors  require 
an  overseer,  why  not  bishops?     Then  again  the   same 


21 

reason  that  would  require  an  archbishop,  would  require  a 
supreme  head,  and  thus  the  system  naturally  culminated 
in  patriarchates  and  in  popery.  With  the  exception  of 
these  United  States,  where  circumstances  have  hitherto 
rendered  it  impossible,  the  Episcopal  system  has  every- 
where protruded  a  supreme  head.  In  the  Church  of 
England,  that  head  is  the  reigning  sovereign,  whoever  it 
may  be,  without  regard  to  religious  character,  or  the 
choice  of  the  church — a  monstrous  anomaly  which  the 
Puseyites  are  right  in  attacking. 

But  the  assumption  by  the  bishops  of  the  power  origi- 
nally belonging  to  the  congregations,  and  then  gradually 
of  power  over  other  bishops,  was  not  the  most  important 
element  in  the  corruption  which  inaugurated  popery. 
That  element  lay  in  the  attempt,  nearly  simultaneous, 
to  clothe  Christian  teachers  with  the  same  prerogatives  as 
the  Jewish  priesthood — to  make  them  priests  and  sacrifi- 
cial mediators.  This  gave  to  the  churches  altars,  and  to 
the  officiating  ministers  vestments ;  it  invested  them  with 
an  awful  sanctity,  made  them  the  objects  of  a  supersti- 
tious veneration,  and  the  sole  medium  through  which 
grace  and  salvation  could  be  imparted.  This  was  an 
entire  perversion  of  the  original  idea  of  Christianity  ;  or 
rather,  it  was  a  change  in  its  very  substance,  and  the 
laying  of  another  foundation.  Here  we  find  the  true  root 
of  the  papacy,  of  the  clergy  as  a  distinct  order,  of  trans- 
mitted grace,  and  of  an  apostolical  succession  ;  and 
wherever  this  sacrificial  element  is,  in  connection  with 
these  claims,  there  is  the  man  of  sin,  taking  his  seat  in 
the  temple  of  God.  Of  these  elements,  either  would  be 
pernicious  by  itself;  but  in  combination,  the  priestly 
power  wielding  the  civil,  either  directly  or  indirectly, 
they  are  at  the  basis  of  a  double  tyranny,  the  most 
awful  this  world  has  seen,  and  only  the  more  awful  as 
assuming  to  be  the  religion  of  the  merciful  Saviour.  Most 
sad  is  it  that  such   transcendent   wickedness   should    be 


22 

connected,  and  in  the  minds  of  many,  identified  with  such 
a  religion  ;  but  the  best  gifts  of  God  can  be  perverted 
only  by  a  hardening  and  searing  process,  more  dreadful 
than  any  other.  Those  who  fall  from  a  great  height, 
must  sink  to  a  corresponding  depth. 

And  here  we  remark  once  more,  that  those  who  have 
adhered  to  the  institutions  of  God,  as  he  gave  them, 
have  been  in  the  minority.  We  have,  first,  the  Primitive 
Church  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  or  more  ;  and  when 
the  struggle  commenced  which  led  to  popish  usurpations, 
we  have  the  ancient  Cathari,  or  Puritans,  bearing  singu- 
larly enough  the  same  name  that  modern  intolerance  fixed 
on  our  Fathers  as  a  reproach.  Of  these,  the  history  is  not 
known  as  it  should  be.*  They  not  only  rejected  prelacy, 
but  declined  the  offer  of  Constantine  to  be  connected 
with  the  state.  They  were  a  numerous  and  powerful 
body,  and  had  descendants  and  representatives  throughout 
the  dark  ages,  and  till  the  Reformation.  We  have  also 
the  great  majority  of  the  Reformed  Churches  since  the 
time  of  Luther  ;  but  the  number  of  these  is  small,  com- 
pared with  the  Coptic,  and  Nestorian,  and  Armenian,  and 
Greek,  and  Papal,  and  English  Churches. 

We  observe,  secondly,  that  the  prelatical  system  has 
been  upheld  by  the  wealth  and  art,  and  pomp  and  fashion 
of  the  world. 

The  religion  of  Christ  is  not  cynical.  It  does  not 
object  to  wealth,  or  to  any  thing  beautiful  in  art,  or  ele- 
gant in  fashion.  It  simply  ignores  them  as  aside  from  its 
great  end.f  Its  sphere  is  far  deeper,  in  that  which  is 
spiritual.  It  is  emphatically  the  gospel  to  the  poor.  Its 
work  is  by  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  of  death,  in  the  hut 

of  poverty,  among  the  jungles  of  India  and  the  snows  of 
* 

*  See  an  able  article  by  Dr.  Forsyth,  in  the  "Literary  and  Theological  Journal"  for 
January,  1855. 

f  If  the  end  of  Christianity  could  be  accomplished,  the  highest  art  and  elegance  would 
spring  from  it;  but  as  a  means  of  accomplishing  that  end  it  rejects  everything  not 
accessible  to  all.  It  is  the  knowledge  of  Christ  that  makes  a  man  a  Christian,  and  in 
him  "  are  hid  all  the  treasures  of  wisdom  and  knowledge." 


23 

Greenland,  as  well  as  in  the  palace.  Wherever  there  is  a 
conscience  that  is  quickened,  and  the  great  question  is 
asked,  "  What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved  ?"  there  is  its  pecu- 
liar sphere,  and  it  utters  its  stern  rebuke  against  any 
attempt  to  substitute  the  emotions  awakened  by  art,  for 
those  that  spring  from  an  enlightened  and  quickened  con- 
science. When  one  of  the  disciples  would  have  awaken- 
ed the  admiration  of  the  Saviour,  for  the  beauties  of 
architecture,  and  said  to  him,  "Master,  see  what  manner 
of  stones,  and  what  buildings  are  here  !  "  the  Master  did 
not  seize  the  occasion  to  discourse  upon  art,  or  to  found  a 
school  of  church  architecture.  He  simply  replied,  "  Seest 
thou  these  great  buildings  f  there  shall  not  be  left  one 
stone  upon  another  that  shall  not  be  thrown  down."  It 
was  upon  a  temple  spiritual  and  imperishable  that  his  eye 
was  fixed,  and  the  utterance  of  his  religion  everywhere  is, 
"  The  things  that  are  seen,  are  temporal ;  but  the  things 
that  are  not  seen,  are  eternal." 

But  from  its  concentration  of  wealth  and  power,  there 
is  an  inherent  tendency  in  prelacy,  precisely  as  in  mon- 
archy, to  associate  with  itself  wealth  and  art,  and  pomp 
and  fashion.  There  is  a  tendency,  illustrated  by  its 
whole  history,  to  appeal  to  the  sensuous,  rather  than  to 
the  spiritual  part  of  our  nature.  It  has  deified  art.  It  has 
thought  architecture,  and  sculpture,  and  painting,  requi- 
sites to  the  highest  form  of  the  worship  of  the  One  Only 
Living  and  True  God.  It  has  built  vast  cathedrals, 
meaningless  and  useless  except  as  they  sustain  those  two 
ideas  subversive  of  all  Christianity,  sacrificial  mediation, 
and  auricular  confession.  It  has  prescribed  ceremonies 
and  vestments  and  processions,  and  made  of  these  vital 
points.  It  has  had  its  ritualism  for  the  rich  and  refined, 
making  it  easy  for  them  to  stand  equally  well  in  the 
church  and  in  the  fashionable  world  ;  and  in  all  countries 
except  this,  social  discriminations  have  been  made  against 
those  who  would  not  conform  ;  they  have  been  put  under 


24 

the  ban  of  fashion  ;  and  to  those  who  would  rise  in  family 
and  fortune,  other  than  religious  reasons  have  been  offered 
for  worshiping  with  the  establishment.  The  slightest 
knowledge  of  English  literature  and  society  shows  us 
with  what  distaste  and  aversion  Dissenters,  and  especially 
the  Puritans,  have  been  and  still  are  regarded  by  a  large, 
set  of  sentimentalists  in  the  English  Church,  and  what  an 
air  of  relative  gentility  they  conceive  that  to  be,  in  which 
they  exist.  Whether  anything  of  all  this  has  crossed  the 
Atlantic,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say. 

But  we  observe,  thirdly,  that  the  prelatical  system  can 
claim  a  high  antiquity  and  the  support  of  illustrious  men. 
Of  the  great  and  good  men  who  have  lived  and  labored 
under  this  system,  particularly  in  the  English  Church,  I 
yield  to  no  one  in  my  admiration.  I  honor  them,  and 
shall  always  be  ready  to  express  my  indebtedness  to  them. 
On  this  point  I  am  ready  to  concede  all  that  can  be  asked  ; 
but  even  if  they  were  as  wise  as  Solomon,  they  might, 
like  him,  be  led  astray ;  and  then  there  have  always  been 
those  opposed  to  them  quite  as  great  and  quite  as  good. 

The  main  point  here  is  antiquity,  for  we  claim  to  be 
the  true  ancients.  Recent  research  has  thrown  new  light 
on  the  history  of  England,  particularly  of  Cromwell  and 
the  Puritans ;  it  has  greatly  changed  ancient  Roman  his- 
tory ;  and  it  has  cast  a  broad  light,  which  cannot  now  be 
obscured,  upon  the  free  and  simple  forms  and  spiritual 
worship  of  the  primitive  church.  Here  prelacy  has  made 
high  claims,  availing  itself  much  of  what  are  now  clearly 
shown  to  be  forgeries.  In  the  language  of  Bunsen, 
"  Between  us  and  those  fathers,  empty  phantoms  have 
sprung  up,  darkening  that  primitive  age."*  But  those 
phantoms  have  been  laid  ;  for  he  says  again,  "  As  regards 
those  churches  which  insist  upon  hierarchical  tradition, 
both  as  to  dogma  and  authority,  they  acknowledge,  and 
cannot  help  acknowledging,  the  paramount  authority  of 

*  Hippolytus,  vol.  iii.  p.  8. 


25 

the  first  links  in  the  chain  of  that  historical  development 
which  they  call  tradition.  The  undeniable  facts  of  that 
age  accordingly  witness  against  them,  as  much  as  they  do 
in  favor  of  a  free  Christianity."* 

Again  he  says,  "  The  hierarchical  party,  towards  the 
end  of  the  second  century,  used  the  captivating  idea  of 
the  'Catholic  Church,'  as  a  basis  for  the  doctrine  of 
spiritual  absolutism,  and  foisted  the  doctrine  into  all  the 
documents,  fathering  their  unholy  tenets  upon  the  ancient 
bishops,  with  the  same  zeal  and  impudence  as,  in  later 
times,  the  papists  did  in  their  decretals. ""[ 

For  the  original  identity  of  bishops  with  presbyters  or 
pastors;  for  their  oversight  of  but  a  single  church;  for 
the  equality  of  pastors,  and  of  churches  ;  and  for  their 
free  and  spiritual  forms  of  worship,  there  is  a  mass  of 
evidence,  from  the  state  of  things  then  existing,  from 
Scripture,  from  the  Fathers,  and  from  the  researches  of 
modern  historians,  such  that,  in  its  selection,  one  does  not 
know  where  to  begin  or  where  to  end. 

To  one  acquainted  with  the  materials  of  which  Chris- 
tian churches  were  composed,  and  their  position  in  the 
first  century,  the  supposition  of  anything  like  papal,  or 
even  episcopal  forms  of  government,  and  especially  of 
worship,  seems  preposterous.  They  had,  and  could  have 
had  no  church-structures,  no  altars,  no  vestments,  no 
rituals. 

The  original  equality  of  bishops  and  presbyters  is  very 
evident,  and  is  admitted  by  many  Episcopalians.  This  is 
clear  from  the  Scriptures.  When  Paul  enumerated  the 
gifts  of  the  Saviour  to  the  church,  he  mentioned  apostles, 
prophets,  evangelists,  pastors  and  teachers,  but  not  bishops. 
Indeed,  it  would  appear  from  the  address  of  Paul  to  the 
elders  of  the  church  at  Ephesus,  not  only  that  elders  and 
bishops  are  the  same,  but  that  so  far  from  having  the 
oversight  of  more  churches  than  one,  there   were   some- 

*  Hippolytus,  vol.  i.  p.  307.  t  Ibid.  vol.  i.  p.  101. 

A 


26 

times  more  bishops  than  one  over  a  single  church, — for  he 
says,  "Take  heed  therefore  unto  yourselves,  and  to  all 
the  flock  over  whom  the  Holy  Ghost  hath  made  you 
'Enioxonovg  bishops."  The  word  had  then  acquired  no 
specific  meaning,  and  the  same  man  might  be  a  presbyter 
or  elder,  shepherd  or  pastor,  and  an  overseer  or  bishop, 
as  he  was  viewed  in  different  relations.  Clement,  the 
most  ancient  of  the  apostolical  fathers,  uses  the  terms 
interchangeably.  He  "  was  not,"  says  Riddle,  an  Epis- 
copal church  historian,  "  even  aware  of  the  distinction 
between  bishops  and  presbyters — terms  which,  in  fact,  he 
uses  as  synonymous."  Polycarp,  in  his  epistle,  speaks  of 
presbyters,  but  does  not  even  mention  bishops.  Irenscus 
speaks  of  the  succession  of  the  presbyters,  and  Jerome 
says  they  were  originally  the  very  same.  "  Our  inten- 
tion," says  he,  "  is  to  show  that  among  the  ancients, 
presbyters  and  bishops  were  the  very  same.  But  that,  by 
little  and  little,  that  the  plants  of  dissension  might  be 
plucked  up,  the  whole  concern  was  devolved  upon  an 
individual."*  At  the  Reformation,  all  the  Reformed 
churches  came  on  to  the  same  ground,  and  renounced  the 
principle  of  any  divine  right  of  Episcopal  ordination. 
"  The  Smalcaldic  Articles,  in  1533,  which  strenuously 
assert  the  identity  of  bishops  and  presbyters,  and  their 
equality  by  divine  right  in  the  power  of  ordination,  were 
signed  by  nearly  eight  thousand  ministers,  among  whom 
were  Luther,  Melancthon,  Bucer,"  &c.f  About  the  same 
time,  a  declaration  was  made  in  England,  that  "  in  the 
New  Testament,  there  is  no  mention  of  any  degree  and 
distinction  of  orders,  but  only  of  deacons  or  ministers, 
and  of  priests  or  bishops,"  and  this  was  signed  by  thirty- 
seven  distinguished  civilians  and  divines,  and  by  thirteen 
bishops,  among  whom  were  Archbishop  Cranmer,  and  the 

*  See  Coleman's   "  Primitive  Church,"  p.  214,  where  the   original  is 
given,  and  much  more  to  the  same  effect, 
t  Christian  Spectator  for  1830. 


27 

leaders  of  the  Reformation.  Cranmer  says,  expressly, 
"  The  bishops  and  priests  were  at  one  time,  and  were  no 
two  things,  but  both  one  office  in  the  beginning  of 
Christ's  religion."  In  the  English  edition  of  Burnet,  there 
are  documents,  omitted  in  the  American  edition,  showing 
that  this  question  was  carefully  considered  in  those  times, 
and  decided  by  a  large  majority  with  us.  In  these,  the 
answers  of  individuals  to  this  question  is  given,  and  Dr. 
Redman  comes  fully  on  to  our  ground,  and  says,  that 
"  the  authority  of  preaching  and  ministering  the  sacra- 
ments is  given  immediately  to  the  church,  and  the  church 
may  appoint  ministers  as  is  thought  convenient."*  It  is 
historically  certain  that  high-church  principles  can  be 
traced  back  in  the  Church  of  England  only  to  the  last 
part  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  when  they  began  to  be 
needed  against  the  Puritans.  Whitgift  himself  only  wished 
they  might  be  true,  and  even  long  after  that,  Stillingfleet 
says,  "It  is  acknowledged  by  the  stoutest  champions  of 
Episcopacy,  before  these  late  unhappy  divisions,  that  ordi- 
nation performed  by  presbyters,  in  case  of  necessity,  is 
valid  ;  which  I  have  already  shown  doth  evidently  prove 
that  Episcopal  government  is  not  founded  on  any  unaltera- 
ble divine  right."  Of  Archbishop  Leighton,  Burnet  says, 
"  He  did  not  think  orders  given  without  bishops  were  null 
and  void,"  but  "  he  thought  every  church  might  make 
such  forms  of  ordination  as  they  pleased."!  That  this 
general  view  was  originally  held  by  the  English  Church, 
both  Hallam  and  Macaulay  agree.  Nor  had  the  first  Scot- 
tish bishops  Episcopal  ordination.  "  Bishop  Andrews," 
says  Burnet,  "moved  the  ordaining  them."  "  But  that 
was  overruled  by  King  James,  who  thought  it  went  too 
far  towards  the  unchurching  of  all  those  who  had  no 
bishops  among  them."  J 

No  less  evident  is  it  that  a  bishop  had  originally  the 

*  Christian  Spectator  for  1830.  \  Burnet's  Own  Times,  p.  140. 

X  Burnet's  Own  Times,  p.  139. 


28 

oversight  of  but  a  single  parish.  Says  Clarkson,  an 
Episcopalian,  "  A  bishop,  in  the  best  ages  of  Christianity, 
was  no  other  than  the  pastor  of  a  single  church.  A  pastor 
of  a  single  church  is  now  as  truly  a  bishop."  Says 
Bunsen,  "  Every  town,  however  small,  was  a  bishopric."* 
But  on  this  I  cannot  dwell.  I  will  only  add,  as  appli- 
cable to  the  present  times  on  another  account,  one  of 
the  canons  of  the  Ante-Nicene  Church.  "  A  bishop  ought 
not  to  leave  his  own  parish,  and  go  to  another,  although 
the  multitude  should  force  him,  unless  some  rational  cause 
compelleth  him. — But  this  he  shall  not  try  by  himself, 
but  after  the  judgment  of  many  bishops,  and  after  press- 
ing supplications."! 

On  these  and  all  the  other  points  on  which  we  are  at  issue 
with  prelacy,  we  have  with  us  the  learning  and  thorough 
research  of  Germany.  Neander,  the  first  church  historian 
of  modern  times,  is  with  us.  So  is  the  Chevalier  Bunsen, 
combining  German  learning  with  English  good  sense,  in 
his  great  work  "  Hyppolitus,"  in  which  he  edits  a  newly 
discovered  work  by  Bishop  Hyppolitus,  and  thoroughly 
discusses  the  whole  subject.  Nor  is  Bunsen  merely  a 
historian  and  a  scholar.  He  is  a  profound  thinker,  a 
diplomatist,  and  man  of  the  world.  With  us,  too,  are 
Moshiem,  and  Planck,  and  Bohmer ;  nor  may  I  omit  to 
mention  the  thorough  and  unanswerable  works  of  our 
countrymen,  Dr.  Edward  Beecher  and  Dr.  Lyman  Cole- 
man, which  ought  to  be  in  the  library  of  every  pastor. 

We  observe,  fourthly,  that  those  who  have  adhered  to 
Christian  institutions  as  God  gave  them,  have  been  per- 
secuted. 

The  primitive  church  was  persecuted  by  both  Jews 
and  Gentiles  till  prelacy  arose,  and  that  has  always  been, 
where  it  could  be,  a  persecuting  power.  It  is  so  naturally, 
for  the  same  reason  that  monarchy  is.  It  forms  to  itself 
a  paramount  interest  distinct  from   that  of  the  church, 

*  Hyppolitus,  vol.  ii.  p.  123.  t  Ibid.  vol.  ii.  p.  80. 


29 

sometimes  so  losing  sight  of  the  laity,  that  the  clergy- 
alone  have  been  called  the  church.  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  precisely  the  same  love  of  power,  and  distinction, 
and  wealth,  that  would  change  a  republic  into  a  mon- 
archy, would  destroy  the  equality  of  the  pastors,  and  the 
independence  of  churches;  would  change  the  character  of 
original  officers,  as  bishops,  and  create  new  ones  unknown 
to  the  Scriptures,  making  its  bishops  as  little  like  primi- 
tive bishops,  as  the  patriarch  of  Constantinople  is  like  the 
patriarch  Abraham;  and  that  all  politicians,  favoring  mon- 
archy, would  also  favor  such  a  change.  This  would 
bring  the  institutions  of  the  church  and  of  the  state  into 
harmony,  and  enable  the  rulers,  in  both,  to  aid  each 
other  in  attaining  their  personal  ends  ;  and  when  this  is 
done,  the  results  are  to  be  looked  for  in  the  Inquisition, 
and  St.  Bartholomew's  day.  Then  the  two  classes  of 
powers  can  be  fully  exercised,  which  it  has  been  seri- 
ously maintained  were  conferred  upon  Peter  by  the  two 
commands — "Feed  my  sheep,"  and  "Arise,  Peter,  slay 
and  eat."  It  is  really  wonderful  how  few  spots  there 
have  been  on  the  earth  where  a  free  Christianity  could 
be  without  some  form  of  disability,  without  molesta- 
tion and  without  fear.  Nowhere  has  this  been,  where 
prelacy  has  been  predominant,  not  even  in  England. 
Only  by  being  driven  across  the  ocean,  and  into  the 
wilderness,  could  a  free  church,  like  a  free  State,  have 
permission  and  scope  to  grow  strong  ;  and  even  here  we 
are  unchurched,  and  turned  over  to  "  uncovenanted  mer- 
cies," and  the  determination  to  subvert  our  religious 
liberties  is  boldly  avowed.  Wherever,  too,  we  would 
plant  free  churches  in  countries  nominally  Christian,  we 
find  the  true  idea  of  religious  liberty,  now  the  great  want 
of  the  world,  utterly  unknown  ;  and  the  most  formidable 
obstacle  in  our  way  is  persecution  by  prelacy,  in  some 
form,  to  the  extent  of  its  power. 


30 

We  observe,  fifthly,  that  a  free  Christianity  is  sustained, 
and  prelacy  is  condemned  by  history. 

This  opens  a  wide  field,  but  we  have  only  to  glance  at 
the  whole  field  of  prelacy,  at  the  Coptic,  the  Nestorian, 
the  Armenian,  the  Greek,  the  Papal  and  the  English 
Churches,  to  be  satisfied  on  this  point.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  England,  and  of  the  Low  Church  there,  the 
priesthood  have  every  where  become  ambitious  and  cor- 
rupt, and  the  people  ignorant,  superstitious  and  degraded. 
It  is  sickening  to  read  the  accounts  of  the  clergy  in 
ancient  times,  after  prelacy  had  come  in,  and  when,  from 
the  wealth  and  power  and  distinction  connected  with  it, 
every  body  was  desirous  of  entering  what  then  began  to 
be  called  the  priesthood.  Says  Gregory  Nazianzen,  in  the 
fourth  century,  "  I  am  worn  out — with  contending  against 
the  envy  of  the  holy  bishops ;  disturbing  the  public  peace 
by  their  contentions,  and  subordinating  the  Christian  faith 
to  their  own  private  interests."  "  If  I  must  write  the 
whole  truth,  I  am  determined  to  absent  myself  from  all 
assemblies  of  the  bishops ;  for  I  have  never  seen  a  happy 
result  of  any  councils,  nor  any  that  did  not  occasion  an 
increase  of  evils,  rather  than  a  reformation  of  them,  by 
reason  of  these  pertinacious  contentions,  and  this  vehement 
thirst  for  power,  such  as  no  words  can  express."*  Still 
later,  Jerome  says,  "  The  bishops,  by  their  pride  and  their 
base  deeds,  are  a  reproach  to  their  name,  and  whenever 
they  perceive  one  to  have  gained  an  influence  by  rightly 
handling  the  word  of  God,  they  seek,  by  detraction,  to 
oppose  him."f  When  Leighton  entered  the  Episcopal 
Church,  after  finding  out  the  men  with  whom  he  had 
become  associated,  he  said,  "that  how  fully  soever  he 
was  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  as  to  Episcopacy,  yet  it 
seemed  that  God  was  against  them,  and  that  they  were 
not  like  to  be  the  men  that  should  build  up  his  church, 
so  that  struggling  about  it  seemed  to  him  like   a  fighting 

*  Coleman's  "Primitive  Church,"  p.  280.  t  Ibi(i.  p.  302. 


31 

against  God.  He  who  had  the  greatest  hand  in  it,  pro- 
ceeded with  so  much  dissimulation,  and  the  rest  of  the 
order  were  so  mean  and  so  selfish."*  And  so  under  this 
false  system,  it  has  very  generally  been,  down  to  the  card- 
playing,  wine-drinking,  fox-hunting  incumbents  and  re- 
cumbents  of  the  English  Establishment.  There  is  no 
sadder  chapter  in  the  history  of  our  race,  than  this  fearful 
perversion  of  Christianity,  and  the  wide-spread  moral  and 
spiritual  paralysis  consequent  upon  it.  England  excepted, 
there  is  not  a  church  that  has  been  under  prelacy,  that  is 
not  in  need  of  Christian  missions,  and  to  which  we  are 
not  sending  them. 

And  how  has  it  been  with  the  English  Church  ?  Of  all 
the  Protestant  churches,  she  is  the  only  one  that  has 
retained  prelacy  ;  for  though  the  Lutherans  have  bishops, 
as  the  Methodists  have,  yet  they  are  not  prelatical,  not  a 
separate  order,  not  by  divine  right,  or  apostolical  succes- 
sion. Nor  were  they  originally  so  in  England.  There 
was  at  first  a  strong  sympathy  with  other  Protestant 
churches,  and  foreign  churches  were  recognized  as  in  the 
fullest  sense  churches  of  Christ.  "  Foreign  divines," 
among  them  John  Knox,  "  were  invited  by  Cranmer  from 
abroad  to  aid  in  the  Reformation,  and  were  instantly 
employed  in  clerical  duties,  without  one  hint  of  re-ordina- 
tion ;"  and  it  was  enacted  by  Parliament,  "  that  the  ordi- 
nation of  foreign  churches  should  be  held  valid,  and  that 
those  who  had  no  other  orders  should  be  of  like  capacity 
with  others,  to  enjoy  any  place  of  ministry  in  England."! 
But  by  that  facilis  ascensus,  which  has  always  shown 
itself  in  connection  with  prelacy,  high-church  principles 
came  in,  and  what  has  been  the  result  ?  According  to 
Hallam,  the  clergy  studiously  inculcated,  in  the  reign  of 
Charles  I,  "  that  resistance  to  the  commands  of  rulers  was, 
in  every  conceivable  instance,  a  heinous  sin. "J     In  the 

*  Burnet's  Own  Times,  p.  141.  t  Christian  Spectator  for  1830. 

X  Const.  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  264. 


language  of  Macaulay,  the  church  became  "  the  servile 
handmaid  of  monarchy,  the  steady  enemy  of  public  liberty. 
The  divine  right  of  kings,  and  the  duty  of  passively 
obeying  all  their  commands,  were  her  favorite  tenets. 
She  held  them  firmly  through  times  of  oppression,  perse- 
cution and  licentiousness,  while  law  was  trampled  down  ; 
while  judgment  was  perverted  ;  while  the  people  were 
eaten  as  though  they  were  bread."*  She  persecuted  to 
imprisonment,  exile  and  death,  the  Puritans  and  the  Cov- 
enanters ;  she  arraigned  Baxter,  and  imprisoned  Bunyan  ; 
she  opposed  the  Christian  Sabbath,  which  England  now 
owes  to  the  Puritans ;  she  opposed  the  spiritual  reforma- 
tion, made  necessary  by  her  own  supineness,  under  Wes- 
ley and  Whitefield.  Endowed  as  she  has  been,  she  has 
done  next  to  nothing  for  the  education  and  elevation  of 
the  masses;  and  while  she  had  originally  all  England,  and 
while  there  has  been  so  much  to  make  Dissent  discredita- 
ble and  uncomfortable,  yet  more  than  half  of  the  people  of 
England  have  left  her,  and  are  Dissenters  to-day.  And 
while  many  have  gone  off  by  Dissent,  by  the  natural  ten- 
dency of  high-churchism,  many  have  recently  gone  back 
to  Rome,  and  more  ought  to  go.  Making,  then,  every 
allowance  for  the  great  good  contained  in  the  Church  of 
England,  and  done  by  her,  may  we  not  say  that  prelacy, 
even  there,  is  a  failure  ? 

But  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  in  this  country,  it  is  difficult  to  speak  without 
putting  ourselves  in  a  false  position,  because  they  really 
contain  two  denominations,  differing  more  from  each 
other  than  we  do  from  one  of  them.  With  the  Church  of 
England,  as  it  was  at  first,  and  for  many  years,  when  the 
Lord  bishop  of  Derby  could  say  in  a  public  discourse, 
"  The  Gallican,  Belgic,  Helvetian  and  German  churches 
reject  not  us,  nor  we  them,  although  we  differ  in  rites  and 
discipline  ;"  when  he  could  say  further,  "  For  my  part, 

*  Miscellanies,  vol.  i.  p.  293. 


33 

I  freely  profess  that  were  my  lot  cast  among  any  of  the 
Reformed  churches  beyond  the  seas,  1  would  presently 
join  in  their  communion,  and  not  at  all  scruple  to  conform 
myself  to  their  received  customs"" — what  probably  no 
bishop,  even  in  this  country,  would  now  dare  to  say — 
with  such  a  church,  recognizing  other  churches,  and 
laboring  with  them,  we  would  not  contend.  With  such 
men  as  Newton,  and  Scott,  and  Simeon,  and  Wilbur- 
force  ;  as  Bedell  and  Milnor,  and  some  of  honored  name 
now  living  among  us;  with  our  low-church  brethren 
generally,  if  they  could  but  stay  where  they  are,  we 
would  not  contend.  They  are  our  personal  friends.  We 
honor  and  love  them,  and  all  the  more  because  they  seem 
to  be  falling  into  that  honored  minority  in  which  we 
have  always  been.  But  against  the  spirit  of  high- 
churchism,  in  whatever  form,  involving  as  it  does  the 
essence  of  superstition,  bigotry  and  oppression,  we  feel 
bound  to  contend.  Social  experiments  require  centuries, 
and  we  cannot  afford,  the  world  cannot  afford,  to  try  this 
over  again.  Our  souls  have  still  in  remembrance  "the 
wormwood  and  the  gall."  Still,  the  world  is  what  it. 
always  has  been.  No  man  who  has  watched  the  progress 
of  high-churchism  in  this  country  need  ask  how  it  arose 
at  first. f  With  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  Mormonism, 
the  progress  of  nothing  has  been  more  striking;  and  such 
is  its  adaptation  at  once  to  indolence  and  ambition,  to 
formalism  and  fanaticism,  that  we  are  to  be  surprised  at 
nothing,  and  that  only  the  grace  of  God  can  save  us. 
Turn  we  then   to  our  own   simple,  scriptural  institu- 

*  Hopkins  on  the  Ten  Commandments,  Ser.  2. 

f  "  It  is  well  known,"  says  Dr.  Coleman,  "  that  the  introduction  of  Episcopacy  into 
this  country  gave  rise  to  a  long  and  bitter  controversy.  The  objection  from  within  the 
Episcopal  churches,  as  well  as  from  without,  was,  that  its  form  of  government  was  anti- 
republican,  and  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  our  free  institutions.  The  House  of  Burgesses, 
in  Virginia,  composed  chiefly  of  Episcopalians,  declared  their  abhorrence  of  bishops, 
unless  at  the  distance  of  three  thousand  miles,  and  denounced  '  the  plan  of  introducing 
them,  in  the  most  unexceptionable  form,  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  as  a  pernicious 
project.'  Such  was  Episcopacy  after  the  Revolution,  and  high  churchism  did  not  exist." 
—  Primitive  Church,  p.  2fil. 

5 


34 

tions,  adapted  in  the  best  sense  to  the  nature  of  man. 
And  in  doing  this  we  recur  to  the  principles  stated  at  the 
opening  of  this  discussion,  and  placing  ourselves  above  all 
forms,  and  looking  only  at  ends,  we  recognize  Christ  as 
all  and  in  all ;  and  wherever  he  is  found,  through  what- 
ever forms,  there  we  give  our  hands  and  our  hearts.  We 
recognize  the  adaptive  and  plastic  power  of  the  Christian, 
as  of  the  natural  life,  and  its  capability  of  showing  itself 
with  equal  beauty  under  forms  that  are  different.  We  say 
that  in  the  application  of  general  principles  here,  precisely 
as  in  regard  to  health  and  intellectual  well-being,  there 
may  be  modifications  that  shall  be  equally  good.  Exclude 
the  sacrificial  and  hierarchical  elements,  let  there  be 
equality  of  rank  among  the  clergy,  let  the  substantial 
power  and  the  responsibility  rest  with  the  congregations, 
as  with  those  who  are  all  called  to  be  kings  and  priests 
unto  God,  and  we  are  content.  Then,  in  all  things 
indifferent,  as  architecture,  liturgies,  responses,  robes,  we 
concede  the  largest  liberty.  Those  whom  our  Saviour 
sent  forth  to  preach  were  not,  indeed,  permitted  to  have 
two  coats,  and  we  do  not  see  that  it  follows  that  preachers 
now  should  be  required  to  have  two  robes,  or  that  a 
Christian  teacher  should  change  his  garments  during 
service,  because  the  Jewish  priest,  who  slew  animals, 
changed  his;  but  if  any  prefer  this,  we  only  say,  "  Let  all 
things  be  done  to  edification."  We  admit,  too,  the  para- 
mount importance  of  a  right  spirit  in  the  administration  of 
any  forms;  and  that  they  must  be  adapted  to  the  capaci- 
ties and  moral  state  of  the  people.  Still,  the  form  will 
react  upon  the  spirit,  the  method  will  modify  the  results. 
As  man  now  is,  his  character  will  be  formed  more  by  his 
temptations  than  his  duties,  and  that  must  be  the  best 
system  which  will  present  the  fewest  temptations  to  those 
who  have  the  control,  and  the  most  responsibilities  to 
those  who  have  not.  If  then  there  are  forms,  which  God 
has  indicated  and  recognized,  it  may  be  expected  that  the 


35 

church,  as  a  whole,  will  be  benefited  in  proportion  as  she 
shall  conform  herself  to  them,  and  that  only  through 
them  her  highest  efficiency  will  be  reached.  That  there 
are  such  forms,  we  believe  ;  and  what  they  are,  ought  to 
be  investigated  in  the  freeest  and  broadest  spirit,  without 
personality,  or  sectarianism,  and  in  every  light  of  Scrip- 
ture, of  analogy,  of  history,  and  of  philosophy.  Such 
investigation  we  invite.  Omitting,  then,  the  scriptural 
argument,  not  drawing  sharp  lines,  not  claiming  perfec- 
tion for  our  own  system,  cordially  receiving  brethren  of 
other  names  who  are  really  one  with  us  in  spirit,  with 
whom  we  have  labored,  and  love  to  labor,  and  mean  to 
labor, — we  say  that  Congregationalism  is  analogous  to  the 
freedom  of  the  winds  and  the  waves,  and  to  all  free  insti- 
tutions. We  say  that  she  is  the  mother  and  model  of 
those  institutions  ;  for  as  Bunsen  says,  "  These  Christians 
belonged  to  no  state,  but  their  father-land  in  heaven  was 
to  them  a  reality  ;  and  the  love  of  the  brethren  in  truth, 
and  not  in  words,  made  the  Christian  congregation  the 
foreshadowing  of  a  Christian  commonwealth,  and  a  model 
for  all  ages  to  come." 

Her  history,  to  say  nothing  of  primitive  times,  shows 
a  general  intelligence,  a  love  of  liberty  and  of  the  Bible, 
a  readiness  to  make  sacrifices  for  education  and  for  mis- 
sions, a  purity  and  fidelity  of  the  clergy,  and  an  effi- 
ciency and  unsectarianism  of  the  laity,  that  have  never 
been  surpassed.  She  has  labored  for  Christianity,  and 
not  for  herself  and  far,  far  be  the  day  when  she  shall 
lose  her  unsectarian  spirit.  With  her  originated  com- 
mon schools ;  with  her,  foreign  missions  in  England,  for 
the  Baptists  are  Congregationalists  ;  with  her,  both  for- 
eign and  domestic  missions  in  this  country. 

If  we  apply  the  test  of  philosophy,  we  shall  find  that 
she  adopts,  more  fully  than  any  others,  that  great 
principle  of  individual  responsibility,  and  so  of  intelli- 
gent liberty,  on  which  the  hope  of  the  world  nov)  rests. 


She  bases  the  security  of  all  upon  the  culture  of  all. 
Thus  we  rest  on  a  great  principle,  and  this  is  our  strength. 
Slowly,  but  surely,  it  will  upheave  the  nations.  We 
shall  find  that  she  is  adapted  to  man,  as  man,  precisely 
as  is  republicanism,  whether  he  may  live  at  the  North  or  at 
the  South,  at  the  East  or  at  the  West.  If  people  are  too 
ignorant  to  understand  their  relations,  or  to  assume 
responsibility;  if  they  are  too  worldly,  or  too  fashionable, 
to  care  for  the  church  ;  if  they  wish  for  an  order  of  men 
to  take  care  of  their  religion,  and  of  the  interests  of  Christ 
in  the  world,  while  they  are  willing  to  pay  for  it  ;  then, 
and  then  only  is  Congregationalism  not  adapted  to  them. 
We  shall  find,  and  that  1  did  hope  to  show,  that  the  wit 
of  man  cannot  devise  a  system  that  shall  contain  fewer 
elements  that  would  foster  ambition,  or  sectarianism,  or 
formalism,  or  superstition.  It  does  present  the  fewest 
temptations  to  the  clergy,  and  lays  the  most  responsibility 
on  the  laity. 

And  finally,  we  find  in  Congregationalism  the  best,  if 
not  the  only  ground  of  that  unity,  of  which  the  Bible 
speaks,  and  for  which  the  heart  yearns — "  That  they  all 
may  be  one."  Other  churches,  with  centralized  forms  of 
government,  tend  to  break  into  sects  ;  they  must  have  dif- 
ferent centres,  and  jurisdictions,  and  names  ;  and  there 
can  be  no  unity  except,  as  in  the  papal  church,  uuder  one 
head.  But  Congregational  churches  pass  over  all  state 
limits  as  water,  and  would  be  as  little  divided  by  them  ; 
and  if  they  could  cover  the  earth,  recognizing  each  other 
as  brethren,  Christ  as  their  common  head,  and  heaven  as 
their  common  home,  there  would  be  a  unity,  perfect  and 
sublime,  as  of  the  ocean.  Then,  when  the  waters  were 
at  rest,  would  the  whole  earth  reflect  the  image  of 
Heaven,  and  when  they  should  be  heaved  and  tossed 
by  holy  emotion,  '  the  sea  would  roar  and  the  fullness 
thereof,  the  world  and  they  that  dwell  therein. — The 
floods  would  clap  their  hands.' 


THE     PBOMISE     TO     A  B  B  A  H  A  M  , 


MISSIONARY    SERMON 


BY 


MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D, 

President  of  Williams  College. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &  SON,  42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1858. 


Note. — The  substance  of  the  following  Discourse  was  delivered  at  Bangor, 
Maine,  in  August  last,  at  the  ordination  of  the  Rev.  E.  P.  Roberts,  as  a 
Missionary  to  Micronesia.  It  has  since  been  repeated  here,  and  elsewhere — 
recently  at  the  Missionary  Convention  held  at  Pittsfield — and  is  now  pub- 
lished at  the  request  of  the  Mills  Theological  Society,  with  the  hope  that 
it  may  strengthen  the  faith  of  the  friends  of  missions. 

"Williams  College,  Jan.  1,  1858. 


SERMON. 


ROMANS    iv.    13. 

FOR  THE  PROMISE,  THAT  HE  SHOULD  BE  THE  HEIR  OF  THE  WORLD,  "WAS 
NOT  TO  ABRAHAM,  OR  TO  HIS  SEED,  THROUGH  THE  LAW,  BUT  THROUGH 
THE   RIGHTEOUSNESS    OF  FAITH. 

In  the  passage  now  read  from  the  word  of  God,  we  have, 
First,  the  fact  that  it  entered  into  the  original  conception  of 
the  religion  of  the  Bible,  that  it  should  be  universal.  The 
promise  to  Abraham  was,  that  he  should  be  "  the  heir  of  the 
world." 

AVe  have,  Secondly,  the  grand  characteristic,  from  the 
first,  of  the  religion  of  the  Bible,  and  that  by  which  it  is 
fitted  to  become  universal.  Abraham  was  to  be  the  heir  of 
the  world  through  the  righteousness  of  faith. 

We  have,  Thirdly,  the  ground  on  which  the  people  of 
God  have  expected,  and  do  expect,  that  this  religion  will 
become  universal.     The  promise  was  to  Abraham. 

And  we  have,  Fourthly,  as  implied  in  the  last,  the  prin- 
ciple of  action  which  must  sustain  those  who  labor  to  make 
this  religion  universal — faith  in  the  promise.  These  points 
we  now  propose  to  consider. 

We  say  then,  First,  that  it  entered  into  the  original  con- 
ception of  the  religion  of  the  Bible,  that  it  should  become 
universal. 


As  it  is  the  object  of  Christianity,  and  especially  of  the 
missionary  work,  to  establish  a  universal  religion,  it  becomes 
us  to  inquire  into  the  origin  and  history  of  this  idea. 

Ideas  giving  impulse  and  direction  to  human  thought  and 
effort,  may  either  originate  with  God,  or  with  man.  The  idea 
of  the  law  of  gravitation  did  not  originate  with  Newton.  It  had 
been  operative  in  the  works  of  God  thousands  of  years  before 
he  was  born,  and  was  as  really  expressed  in  the  movements 
of  those  works,  as  a  thought  is  expressed  in  a  sentence.  It 
lay  behind  those  movements,  as  the  thought  behind  a  sentence ; 
was  presupposed  by  them,  was  their  upholding  and  informing 
principle.  And  so  we  say  that  the  idea  of  a  universal  relig- 
ion originated  with  God,  was  communicated  by  him  to  man, 
and  is,  to  Him,  like  the  law  of  the  planetary  motions,  one  of 
those  great  ideas,  in  accordance  with  which,  and  for  the  real- 
ization of  which  He  works.  True,  this  idea  may  spring  at 
once  from  a  correct  conception  of  the  attributes  and  claims  of 
the  true  God,  and  so,  when  once  made  known,  commends 
itself  to  our  reason ;  still,  as  man  was  situated,  we  say  it  could 
have  come  only  from  God. 

It  was  more  than  four  hundred  years  after  the  flood,  when 
the  promise  referred  to  in  the  text,  that  all  the  families  of  the 
earth  should  be  blessed  in  him,  was  made  to  Abraham.  The 
race  had  been  dispersed  over  the  earth,  had  been  divided  into 
different  tribes,  with  different  languages,  and  idolatry  in 
various  forms  had  become  nearly  or  quite  universal.  With 
idolatry  is  naturally  connected  the  idea  of  local  divinities, 
and  the  impression,  still  prevalent  among  the  heathen,  that 
each  religion  is  good,  and  the  best  for  its  own  locality.  The 
earth  had  not  been  explored.  Nothing  was  known  of  its 
form,  or  of  its  extent ;  nothing  of  the  capabilities  of  the  race 
for  extension,  or  for  various  forms  of  culture  and  organiza- 
tion. The  tendency  then  was,  not  to  centralization  any 
where,  but  to  wider  dispersions,  the  reach  of  which  no  man 
could  foresee,  and  which  might  be  so  wide  as  to  sunder  per- 


manently,  as  they  did  for  ages,  the  relations  of  different  parts 
of  the  race.  There  was  no  writing  then,  no  printing,  no 
system  of  roads  or  of  intercommunication.  The  race  was 
not  only  idolatrous,  but  nomadic  and  predatory.  It  was  a 
great  thing  for  Abraham  to  go  out  from  his  kindred  and  Ins 
father's  house,  to  a  land  which  he  knew  not  of;  and  nothing 
but  the  special  protection  of  God  could  have  prevented  him 
from  being  plundered  and  slain.  War,  indeed,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  union,  but  of  plunder  and  subjection,  seems  to 
have  been  then,  as  it  was  subsequently,  the  great  business 
and  ground  of  distinction  among  men. 

Under  such  circumstances,  the  suggestion  that  a  universal 
religion  either  was  then,  or  ever  could  become  possible, 
would  seem  entirely  aside  from  the  laws  of  human  thought. 
It  was  no  light  thing  thus  to  claim  to  know  the  future  for 
all  time  ;  and  to  recognize  the  highest  and  only  true  bond 
of  unity  for  the  race  ;  and  to  conceive  that  that  unity  might 
be  realized,  and  to  utter  this  with  the  simplicity  and  majesty 
and  unfaltering  certainty  which  we  find  only  in  the  Scrip- 
tures. 

And  then,  if  the  suggestion  were  made,  it  would  seem  still 
farther  aside  from  the  laws  of  human  motive  and  effort,  that 
any  man  should  deny  himself,  and  labor  for  such  an  end. 
Aside  from  the  religion  of  the  Bible,  such  a  person  as  a 
Christian  Missionary  could  not  be  conceived  of.  No  motive, 
merely  human,  could  call  men  off  from  their  apathy,  their 
toil,  their  sensuality,  their  ambition,  and  lead  them  to  such 
labors  as  would  be  requisite  to  establish  a  religion  that  could 
become  universal.  No,  my  friends,  it  was  not  for  man,  thus 
situated,  to  originate  an  idea  so  far-reaching  and  comprehen- 
sive, so  exciting  and  elevating,  so  alien  from  all  that  was, 
and  so  consonant  with  all  that  ought  to  be,  as  that  of  one, 
true,  exclusive,  universal  religion.  It  was  not  for  any  one 
individual,  especially  one  who  had  none  of  the  ordinary 
grounds  of  distinction,  who  built  no  city,  founded  no  state, 


conquered  no  country,  wrote  no  book,  who  was  a  wanderer 
dwelling  in  tents,  to  conceive  of  himself  as  holding  such  a 
relation  to  all  nations,  that  they  should  be  blessed  in  him  ; 
and  the  fact  that  this  was  foretold  of  such  an  individual 
nearly  four  thousand  years  ago,  and  that  it  has  come  to  pass 
to  such  an  extent,  is  conclusive  proof  that  the  Bible  is  from 
God,  and  that  the  promise  will  be  completely  fulfilled. 

But  strong  as  this  proof  is,  it  becomes  more  so  when  we 
look  at  the  history  of  this  idea.  It  had  no  gradual  growth, 
was  from  no  tendency  of  society,  or  progress  of  the  mind ; 
but  appeared  in  its  completeness,  like  an  apparition  from 
heaven.  Like  such  an  apparition,  it  appeared  for  a  moment, 
and  then  departed. 

And  not  only  did  it  thus  appear  and  depart,  but  it  appeared 
in  combination  with  an  idea  that  seemed  its  opposite,  and 
departed  leaving  that  idea  wholly  dominant.  The  chief 
marvel  connected  with  this  promise  is,  not  its  universality 
simply,  but  its  combination  of  universality  with  exclusive- 
ness.  The  covenant  was  with  Abraham,  and  its  immediate 
effect  was,  not  to  unite  him  with  others,  but  to  separate  him 
from  them,  even  from  his  kindred  and  his  father's  house. 
This  separation  continued  while  he  lived,  during  the  lives  of 
the  patriarchs,  and  became  still  more  exclusive  under  the 
Mosaic  dispensation,  one  great  object  of  which  was  to  sepa- 
rate the  Jews  from  other  nations.  Here  was  a  seeming 
inconsistency,  which  could  have  proceeded  only  on  the  deep- 
est knowledge  of  what  the  completed  circle  of  God's  prov- 
idence would  be.  It  was  like  Columbus  seeking  the  Indies 
by  sailing  in  an  opposite  direction.  It  was  like  the  change 
of  the  egg  into  a  grub,  when  the  promise  had  been  that 
it  should  be  a  butterfly.  There  was  doubtless  provision  for 
a  three-fold  development,  as  there  is  in  insect  life  for  a  three- 
fold organization ;  but  this  was  utterly  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  ken,  and  could  as  little  have  been  foretold  by  man 
without  experience,  as  the  changes  in  the  insect. 


And  indeed,  when  we  look  at  these  three-fold  organ- 
izations of  insect  life,  each  preceding  one,  so  slowly  and 
strangely  preparatory,  so  identical,  and  yet  so  diverse ;  when 
we  see  it,  now  creeping  upon  the  earth,  now  enclosed  in  its 
web,  and  now  floating  in  freedom  and  beauty  in  the  upper 
air ;  and  then  look  at  the  Patriarchal  dispensation  passing  into 
the  Mosaic ;  at  the  Mosaic  enclosing  itself  within  its  web  of 
rites  and  ceremonies  ;  and  then,  at  the  expansion  and  glory 
and  universality  of  the  Christian  dispensation,  it  is  difficult 
not  to  feel  that  the  one  is  related  to  the  other,  though  it  be 
but  as  the  slightest  sketch  of  a  great  master  to  his  master- 
piece. May  not  this  be  ?  Is  it  too  much  to  believe  that  He 
who  forms  in  the  dew-drop  the  image  of  the  sun,  who  has 
established  corresponding  ratios  of  distance  between  the 
leaves  of  the  plant  and  the  orbits  of  the  planets,  should  thus 
show,  as  in  a  glass,  through  the  structure  and  changes  of 
that  which  is  lowest  and  most  transient  in  his  works,  some- 
thing of  the  march  and  glory  of  that  which  is  highest  and 
most  permanent  ? 

But  however  this  may  be,  the  promise  was  made,  not  only 
with  no  apparent  provision  for  its  fulfillment,  but  in  connec- 
tion with  an  arrangement  by  which,  in  all  human  probability, 
it  must  have  been  counter- worked. 

Originating  thus  high  up  upon  the  hoary  peaks  of  time, 
and  in  combination  with  an  element  apparently  its  opposite, 
this  idea,  this  element  of  universality,  just  showed  itself,  and 
then,  like  water  that  finds  a  subterranean  channel,  it  disap- 
peared. From  that  time  till  the  coming  of  Christ,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  history  of  the  world  to  indicate  that  such  an 
element  existed.  There  was  nothing  to  show  any  tendency 
towards  universality.  Every  thing  indicated  the  reverse. 
Compared  with  the  nations  around  them,  the  people  of  God 
were  generally  a  small  people,  and  their  system  of  polity  was 
neither  attractive  nor  aggressive.  In  the  course  of  events, 
there  was  no  breath,  no  token,  no  movement,  to  indicate  any 


such  principle  ;  and  yet  we  find  it  bursting  up  in  prophecy, 
along  the  track  of  time,  like  fountains  in  the  desert,  and  so 
as  to  show  a  divine  and  irrepressible  force. 

And  the  striking  point  here,  one  affording  conclusive  proof 
of  the  truth  of  the  Bible,  is  that  the  utterances  and  over- 
flowings of  prophecy  became  more  distinct  and  full,  as  the 
prospect  of  their  fulfillment,  on  the  grounds  of  experience 
and  probability,  became  more  and  more  dark.  It  was  when 
the  idolatries  of  the  heathen  had  become  multiplied  and  con- 
firmed, when  the  glory  of  Israel  had  declined,  and  the 
nation  was  ready  to  go  into  captivity,  or  had  already  gone, 
that  we  find  the  utterances  of  her  poets  and  prophets  most 
fully  inspired  with  this  idea.  With  great  variety  of  expres- 
sion, and  with  unmistakable  clearness,  they  foretell  a  time 
when  wars  shall  cease,  and  the  peaceable  kingdom  of  Im- 
manuel  shall  be  every  where  established.  "  Nation,"  say 
they,  "  shall  not  lift  up  sword  against  nation."  "  The  idols 
He  shall  utterly  abolish."  "The  mountain  of  the  Lord's 
house  shall  be  established  in  the  top  of  the  mountains,  and 
all  nations  shall  flow  unto  it."  "  The  kingdom,  and  domin- 
ion, and  the  greatness  of  the  kingdom  under  the  whole 
heaven,  shall  be  given  to  the  people  of  the  saints  of  the  Most 
High."  "The  earth  shall  be  filled  with  the  knowledge  of 
the  glory  of  the  Lord,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea."  "  From 
the  rising  of  the  sun,  even  unto  the  going  down  of  the  same, 
my  name  shall  be  great  among  the  Gentiles ;  and  in  every 
place  incense  shall  be  offered  unto  my  name  and  a  pure 
offering." 

The  next  point  to  be  noticed  in  the  history  of  this  idea,  is 
the  place  it  occupies  in  the  Christian  dispensation.  And 
here  the  marvel  is  not  less,  and  wholly  unaccountable  except 
on  the  supposition  that  Christ  was  what  he  claimed  to  be. 
Like  that  of  the  being  of  a  God,  this  is  one  of  those  ideas 
which  the  Saviour  did  not  so  much  formally  announce,  as 
take  for  granted.     He  assumed  it  as  entering  into  his  relig- 


9 

ion,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  in  this  there  was  unspeakable 
grandeur.  He  said,  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world."  "  The 
field  is  the  world."  He  commanded  his  disciples  to  "go 
into  all  the  world,  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature." 

Here  we  find  this  idea  appearing  at  the  opening  of  the 
new  dispensation,  as  it  had  before  at  that  of  the  old ;  but 
whereas  it  was  then  a  prophecy,  it  was  now  a  purpose.  The 
transition  from  a  mere  thought,  a  conception,  an  imagination, 
to  a  purpose,  is  a  great  one  ;  and,  in  comparing  the  old  dis- 
pensation with  the  new,  it  is  here  that  we  find  one  of  the 
great  points  both  of  identity  and  of  transition.  The  under- 
lying conception  in  the  old  dispensation  wTas  an  ultimate 
universality.  That  was  really  its  glory,  and  it  was  only  by 
the  adoption  of  that  as  an  object  and  a  purpose,  that  the 
religion  of  Christ  could  become  the  fulfillment,  the  antitype, 
the  expansion,  the  transfiguration  of  the  old  dispensation. 
Accordingly  we  behold  Christ — doubtless  the  one  solitary 
person  of  the  race  who  had  ever  cherished,  or  even  formed 
such  a  purpose — taking  the  ancient  promise,  eliminating  its 
really  great  element  and  placing  that  in  front,  and  then  saying 
to  the  world,  "  I  am  not  come  to  destroy  the  law  and 
the  prophets,  but  to  fulfill."  So  doing,  he  became  the  cen- 
tral point  towards  which  all  in  the  past  that  belonged  to  the 
old  covenant  converged,  and  from  which  all  in  the  great 
future  must  radiate  and  expand.  As  he  alone  gave  to  the 
law  its  spiritual  interpretation,  so  did  he  alone  give  to  the 
promise  its  true  expansion.  If,  then,  Christ  was  not  from 
God,  how  unaccountable  in  him  the  idea  even  of  a  uni- 
versal religion !  How  much  more  so  that  he  should  quietly, 
and  as  it  were  unconsciously,  assume  it  as  a  part  of  his  sys- 
tem !  How  much  more  still,  that  in  him,  in  him  alone,  it 
should  become  a  purpose !  And  most  of  all,  that  he  should 
announce  that  this  purpose  would  be  accomplished  by  his 
own  crucifixion !  "  And  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all 
men  unto  me." 


10 

In  the  history  of  this  idea,  but  one  step  remains.  Re- 
ceiving it  from  Christ  now  in  the  form  of  a  purpose,  the 
disciples,  immediately  after  his  resurrection,  commenced  their 
labors  for  its  realization.  Then  was  seen  the  true  spirit  of 
Christian  missionaries ;  a  spirit  of  self-denial  and  faith, 
which,  if  it  could  return  into  the  church,  would  soon  cause 
the  gospel  to  be  preached  in  every  nation  under  heaven. 
Then  every  church  was  of  course  a  missionary  society,  and 
eveiy  church  member  held  himself  ready  to  serve  the  church, 
and  the  great  Head  of  the  church,  wherever  he  might  be 
called. 

But  those  days  passed  away.  The  spirit  of  worldliness 
and  of  self-aggrandizement  stole  in.  The  man  of  sin  began 
to  assert  his  supremacy,  and  the  night  of  the  dark  ages  set 
in.  The  Reformation  was  a  great  work  ;  but,  as  its  name 
imports,  it  was  a  work  within  the  church,  and  it  was  not  till 
recent  times  that  she  began  again  to  feel  the  inspiration  of 
this  great  purpose.  But  now  the  apathy  of  ages  is  broken. 
The  church  begins  to  remember  that  she  is  the  heir  of  the 
world ;  the  voice  of  the  ancient  promise  rises  and  swells 
upon  her  ear ;  it  seems  like  a  new  revelation,  and  she  feels 
that  it  is  time  to  arise  and  take  possession  of  the  promised 
inheritance.  It  is  almost  within  our  own  day,  that  "  the 
angel  having  the  everlasting  gospel  to  preach  to  every  nation, 
and  kindred,  and  tongue,  and  people,"  has  renewed  his 
flight ;  and  we  trust  that  flight  shall  not  cease  till  there  shall 
be  heard  in  heaven  those  great  voices  saying,  "  The  king- 
doms of  this  world  are  become  the  kingdoms  of  our  Lord 
and  of  his  Christ,  and  he  shall  reign  forever  and  ever." 

Such  is  a  slight  sketch  of  the  origin  and  progress  of  that 
great  idea  which  was  involved  in  the  promise  made  to 
Abraham. 

Let  us  now  consider,  Secondly,  as  indicated  in  the  text,  that 
grand  characteristic  of  the  religion  of  the  Bible  by  which  it 


11 

is  fitted  to  become  universal.  Abraham  was  to  be  the  heir 
of  the  world  through  the  righteousness  of  faith. 

And  here  it  is  certainly  remarkable,  that  in  that  transaction 
with  the  father  of  the  faithful,  in  which  the  old  dispensation 
commenced,  there  should  be  found,  in  such  close  connection 
with  that  idea  of  universality  which  was  to  be  the  consum- 
mation of  the  religion,  the  peculiarity  by  which  that  religion 
should  be  distinguished  from  all  others,  and  should  be  fitted 
to  become  universal.  The  promise  to  Abraham  was,  that  he 
should  be  the  heir  of  the  world,  and  it  was  the  very  believing 
of  this  that  was  counted  to  him  for  righteousness.  So  says 
the  Apostle.  "  Abraham  believed  God,  and  it  was  counted 
to  him  for  righteousness."  In  believing  this,  he  believed  in 
a  Saviour  to  come,  and  so  he  became  the  heir  of  the  world, 
"not  through  the  law,  but  through  the  righteousness  of 
faith." 

The  term  "  righteousness,"  is  here  used  by  the  Apostle 
to  signify  a  mode  of  justification.  Ordinarily,  "  the  right- 
eousness of  God  "  would  indicate  a  personal  quality  in  him  ; 
but  as  used  in  this  Epistle,  it  indicates  the  method  which  he 
has  adopted  of  constituting  and  declaring  his  people  right- 
eous ;  that  is,  the  justification  which  is  of  God.  Thus  in 
the  third  chapter,  21st  and  22d  verses,  "But  now,  the  right- 
eousness of  God  without  the  law  is  manifested,  being  wit- 
nessed by  the  law  and  the  prophets ;  even  the  righteousness 
of  God  which  is  by  faith  of  Jesus  Christ  unto  all  and  upon 
all  that  believe."  Certainly,  God  lias  no  personal  right- 
eousness "without  the  law,"  or,  "  which  is  by  faith  of  Jesus 
Christ." 

Here  then  we  have,  brought  face  to  face  in  the  text,  the 
only  two  modes  of  justification  before  God,  that  are  possible ; 
and  we  are  told  that  the  religion  for  man — for  the  race — is 
not  to  be  through  the  law,  or  any  of  its  works,  but  through 
the  righteousness  of  faith  ;  that  is,  that  it  is  to  be  a  justifica- 
tion wholly  free  and  gratuitous.     "  It  is  of  faith,  that  it  might 


12 

be  by  grace."  This  it  is  that  makes  the  gospel  to  be  what  it 
is — the  evangel,  the  good  tidings,  a  proclamation  of  mercy 
and  of  free  salvation.  This  is  the  central  evangelical  ele- 
ment. It  presupposes  the  claims  of  Law,  else  there  could 
be  no  salvation.  It  presupposes  the  Atonement,  "  that  God 
might  be  just,  while  he  justifies  the  ungodly ; "  but  the  salva- 
tion itself  is  wholly  free.  There  is  no  condition  even,  but 
that  of  acceptance.  Repentance  and  faith  are  sometimes 
said  to  be  conditions  ;  but  in  this  it  is  forgotten  that  holiness 
itself  is  essentially  the  salvation,  and  that  repentance  and 
faith  are  but  the  forms  in  which  holiness  must  necessarily 
begin.     They  are  the  acceptance. 

That  this  characteristic  of  justification  by  faith,  that  is,  of 
a  free  salvation,  fits  the  religion  to  become  universal,  is  plain, 
because  it  recognizes  man  simply  as  a  sinner.  It  knows 
nothing  of  him  in  any  other  relation;  nothing  of  age,  or 
sex,  or  rank,  or  wealth,  or  knowledge,  or  country,  or  color, 
or  race.  There  is  here,  "  neither  Greek  nor  Jew,  circum- 
cision nor  uncircumcision,  barbarian,  Scythian,  bond  nor 
free,  but  Christ  is  all,  and  in  all."  "  In  Jesus  Christ,  nei- 
ther circumcision  availeth  any  thing,  nor  uncircumcision,  but 
faith  that  worketh  by  love."  Wherever,  therefore,  there  is 
a  human  being  who  knows  that  he  is  a  sinner,  and  desires  to 
be  delivered  from  the  power  and  curse  of  sin,  there  this  doc- 
trine will  be  welcome.  0,  how  welcome  !  It  is  no  system 
of  metaphysics,  or  of  dogmas  ;  it  is  a  proclamation  ;  it  is 
good  tidings ;  it  is  rest  to  the  weary,  peace  to  the  tempest- 
tossed  ;  it  is  forgiveness  and  free  salvation. 

Here  the  gospel  is  broadly  distinguished  from  all  mere 
systems  of  development,  and  training,  and  culture,  which 
require  time  and  a  system  of  appliances.  And  this  distinc- 
tion is  so  vital  that  it  was  signalized  by  our  Saviour  in  the 
salvation  of  the  thief  on  the  cross.  Both  the  thieves  reviled 
him,  but  one  of  them  had  but  to  turn  upon  him  the  eye  of 
faith  and  say,  "  Lord,  remember  me  when  thou  comest  into 


13 

thy  kingdom,"  and  instantly  the  reply  was,  "  To-day  thou 
shalt  be  with  me  in  paradise."  All  his  relations  and  pros- 
pects were  changed  in  a  moment.  Hence  the  gospel  may  be 
carried  at  once  to  the  ignorant,  the  degraded,  the  abandoned. 
Clothed  with  supernatural  power,  there  is  no  depth  of  deg- 
radation or  extremity  of  suffering  which  it  cannot  reach.  To 
the  hut  of  poverty,  it  bears  a  wealth  which  the  world  cannot 
give ;  to  the  dungeon  of  the  captive,  the  liberty  wherewith 
Christ  makes  men  free ;  and,  though  rejected  till  then,  yet, 
in  the  hour  of  sickness  and  death,  it  can  gild  the  pallid  coun- 
tenance with  the  light  of  hope,  and  the  radiance  of  a  celestial 

joy- 
But  not  merely  because  it  regards  man  solely  as  a  sinner, 

and  makes  salvation  a  gift,  does  this  principle  of  justification 

by  faith  adapt   Christianity  to  become   universal.     It  thus 

adapts  it  because  it  is   as  simple  as  one  of  the  great  laws  of 

nature,  and  is  yet  as  complex  in  its  relations,  and  as  pervading 

in  its  results,  as  are  those  laws.     How  simple  it  is !     Only  to 

believe !     And  yet  it  will  adjust  rightly  all  the  relations  of 

man  to  God,  to  himself,  and  to  society. 

Without  faith  in  God,  man  is  alienated  from  him,  and  can 
neither  love  nor  obey  him.  With  it,  the  filial  relation  is 
restored.  This  involves  a  recognition  of  the  paramount 
claims  of  God  ;  it  involves  ultimate  heirship,  and  all  essential 
good. 

Without  this  faith,  man  rests  upon  his  native  goodness  and 
on  his  works,  and  thus  is  fostered  pride,  that  primal  sin  of 
the  spirit,  not  only  in  its  relations  to  God,  but  to  itself.  But 
this  doctrine  strikes  at  the  root  of  all  pride.  It  leaves  man, 
in  respect  to  salvation,  no  ground  of  his  own,  not  the  least 
self-righteousness,  and  this  brings  him  to  the  foot  of  the  cross. 
It  is  when  he  feels  his  own  utter  destitution,  and  only  then, 
that  he  will  come  and  ask  at  the  hand  of  mercy,  free  and 
sovereign,  what  he  needs.    This  is  submission ;  and  when  the 


14 

pride  that  struggled  against  this  departs,  then  comes  in  peace, 
and  a  cheerful  obedience,  born  of  gratitude  and  love. 

But  in  thus  adjusting  the  relations  of  man  to  God  and  to 
himself,  those  of  society  will  be  adjusted  also.  A  true  relig- 
ion must  include  a  perfect  morality.  Self- adjustment  implies 
it.  But  justification  by  faith  has  a  special  relation  to  those 
pervading  and  unutterable  evils  in  society,  which  spring  from 
superstition  and  formalism.  These  it  would  sweep  utterly 
away.  They  always  imply  works  as  opposed  to  faith,  and 
not  works  from  faith.  They  imply  something  outward,  done 
on  the  supposition  that  it  will  avail  to  some  extent  as  the 
ground  of  salvation.  Of  these,  especially  of  the  spirit  of 
formalism,  how  full  is  the  whole  world !  How  full  es- 
pecially of  superstition,  are  the  papal  and  heathen  worlds  ! 
How  appalling  the  power  which  these  give  to  man  over  the 
conscience  of  his  fellow  ;  and  through  this,  how  mighty  the 
support  they  have  lent  to  systems  of  civil  oppression  !  They 
have  sat  as  an  incubus  upon  the  nations.  They  have  con- 
verted the  very  church  and  temple  of  God  into  a  den  of 
thieves  and  the  stronghold  of  tyranny.  But  when  this  has 
been  done,  the  simple  sling  and  stone  by  which  these  giants 
have  been  slain,  is  the  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith.  It 
was  the  proclamation  of  this  by  Luther,  that  caused  the 
knees  of  the  papacy  to  smite  together ;  and  now,  there  is  no 
doctrine  so  hated  by  Rome,  and  by  all  who  tend  thitherward. 
This  is  the  doctrine  that  Rome  really  combats  at  every  point, 
that  heathenism  and  tyranny  every  where  combat,  because 
this  alone  brings  all  men  into  immediate  relation  to  Christ  as 
the  sole  Head  of  the  Church,  and  so,  dispenses  with  all  those 
forms  and  intermediate  agencies  through  which  they  have 
been  degraded  and  oppressed.  Before  this,  would  vanish  at 
once  the  confessional,  and  indulgences,  and  penances,  and 
pilgrimages,  and  masses,  and  prayers  for  the  dead,  and 
prayers  to  saints,  and  mawkish  mixtures  of  modern  senti- 


15 

mentalism  and  mediaeval  superstitions  ; — all  the  modifications 
of  superstition,  in  short,  whether  in  the  heathen,  or  the 
nominally  Christian  world  ;  and  in  place  of  these  there  would 
come  the  simple  worship  of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and 
"  the  unity  of  the  spirit  in  the  bond  of  peace." 

This,  then,  is  the  doctrine  for  man  as  a  sinner.  It  is  for 
all,  and  to  be  received  by  all  in  precisely  the  same  way.  It 
is  for  the  king,  for  without  it  he  must  become  poorer  and 
more  powerless  than  the  lowest  of  his  subjects  who  receive 
it ;  it  is  for  the  scholar  and  the  philosopher,  for  without 
it  they  have  no  light  that  will  not  go  out  in  the  darkness 
of  the  tomb  ;  and  this  too  is  the  doctrine  for  the  poor 
benighted  heathen,  for  he  too  is  a  man  and  a  sinner. 

But  while  we  say  that  there  is  thus  an  adaptation  and  a 
tendency  in  the  religion  of  the  Bible  to  become  universal,  we 
yet  say  that  this  has  not  been,  and  is  not  now,  the  ground  on 
which  the  people  of  God  expect  that  it  will  become  so.  That 
ground,  as  is  stated  in  our  Third  proposition,  which  we  now 
proceed  to  consider,  is  the  promise  of  God.  "  The  promise 
was  to  Abraham." 

In  reasoning  from  adaptations  and  tendencies,  we  must 
regard,  not  those  only,  but  also  obstacles  and  opposing 
influences.  There  is  in  the  seed  a  tendency  to  grow,  but 
this  may  be  so  checked  and  thwarted  by  an  adverse  soil 
and  climate,  that  no  one  would  predict  of  the  plant,  that 
it  would  ever  reach  its  full  size,  or,  perhaps,  even  maintain  a 
feeble  and  sickly  life.  So  with  the  religion  of  the  Bible. 
Till  the  time  of  Christ,  neither  its  adaptation  nor  tendency  to 
become  universal  could  have  been  perceived  ;  and  since  then, 
such  have  been  its  reverses  and  perversions,  for  long  periods, 
that  no  human  sagacity  could  have  predicted  its  ultimate 
triumph.  Missionary  zeal  has  not  been  stimulated  by  a  phi- 
losophical perception  of  adaptations  and  tendencies.  There 
never  has  been  a  time  when,  on  grounds  of  mere  reason, 


16 

and  without  reference  to  supernatural  agency,  it  would  have 
been  rational  to  predict  even  the  continuance  of  a  pure  Chris- 
tianity. It  would  not  be  rational  to  predict  it  now.  We 
hear  much,  indeed,  at  present,  of  civilization  and  commerce ; 
of  science  and  the  ails ;  of  ocean  steamers  and  ocean  tele- 
graphs ;  and  it  is  thought,  by  some,  that  these  herald  and 
will  secure  the  progress  of  Christianity.  These  we  would  not 
undervalue.  They  are  the  indirect  product  of  Christianity, 
but  there  is  in  them  literally  nothing  to  move  it  forward. 
They  may  be  as  the  wheels  upon  which  it  shall  move,  but 
even  then  it  will  be  only  as  the  "  spirit  of  the  living  crea- 
ture is  in  the  wheels."  Let  the  vitalizing  force  of  Chris- 
tianity be  withdrawn  from  society,  and  the  car  of  civiliza- 
tion will  be  unfastened  from  its  engine,  and  will  come  to  a 
stop.  But  Christianity  itself  has  moved  on  by  a  divine 
energy  ;  it  has  advanced  against  all  calculations  of  probabil- 
ities, and  only  by  conflict.  Its  life  has  been  through  death. 
That  life  has  been  in  God,  and  from  God.  It  must  be  so 
still,  and  He  only  can  assure  us  of  its  continuance,  or  predict 
its  range. 

The  future  can  be  known  by  us  only  in  two  ways — either 
from  the  experience  of  the  past,  or  from  the  promise  or  pre- 
diction of  one  who  has  it  under  his  control.  These  grounds 
are  quite  distinct,  and  may  seem,  and  be,  opposed  to  each 
other.  The  prediction  of  a  final  conflagration  and  general 
judgment,  is  in  opposition  to  all  experience.  In  such  cases, 
there  is  a  conflict  between  the  evidence  for  the  permanence 
of  the  present  system  and  the  truth  of  the  promise.  Tins 
has  sometimes  been  called  a  conflict  between  reason  and 
faith,  but  is  really  only  a  question  for  reason,  of  evidence 
and  of  fact ;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  show,  on  grounds  of 
reason,  that  confidence  in  the  word  of  a  moral  being  who 
can  control  the  future,  must  be  a  firmer  basis  of  belief  than 
any  experience  of  the  past  can  be.  Only  admit  that  there  is 
a  God,  and  that  this  universe  is  controlled  for  moral  ends,  as 


n 

it  must  be  if  he  be  God,  and  it  will  be  seen  at  once,  from 
the  very  nature  of  the  element  of  experience,  that  it  must  be 
as  nothing  when  opposed  to  the  word  of  God,  and  that  there 
can,  therefore,  be  no  conflict  between  faith  and  reason,  respect- 
ing any  of  the  great  facts  of  the  future,  revealed  in  the  Bible. 
What  is  it  for  a  particular  order  in  a  material  system  to  come 
to  an  end  ?  Another,  and  a  better  order  may  succeed  it ;  but 
if  the  truth  of  God  fail,  that  is  a  subversion  of  all  founda- 
tions, and  an  end  of  all  order,  physical  and  moral.  Hence 
the  promise  of  God  is  rationally  the  firmest  ground  on  which 
confidence  can  rest ;  and  it  is  precisely  and  only  on  this  that 
we  do  rest  in  our  belief  that  this  world  shall  be  given  to 
Christ.  We  believe  the  promise ;  and  belief  in  a  promise, 
from  confidence  in  the  promiser,  is  faith. 

This  brings  us  to  consider,  finally,  the  principle  of  action 
which  must  sustain  those,  and  especially  missionaries,  who 
labor  to  make  this  religion  universal — Faith  in  the  promise. 

The  labors  and  trials  of  the  missionary  are  peculiar.  This 
is  not,  as  is  often  supposed,  because  he  must  leave  friends 
and  country,  and  break  up  cherished  associations,  and  go  and 
dwell  among  a  strange,  a  heathen,  and  a  degraded  people- 
Others  do  this,  and  in  great  numbers,  from  the  love  of  gain. 
His  great  trial  is,  when  he  has  reached  a  heathen  shore,  in 
giving  himself  there,  during  the  best  years  of  his  life,  with 
no  hope  of  any  thing  but  a  bare  support,  in  singleness  of 
heart,  with  earnestness,  with  diligence,  with  watchfulness  and 
prayer,  in  the  midst  of  apathy,  ignorance,  low  vice,  suspicion 
and  opposition,  to  the  work  of  enlightening  and  saving  a 
people  whom  he  knows  only  as  the  children  of  a  common 
Father,  and  as  those  for  whom  Christ  died.  To  do  this,  is 
not  of  nature  unrenewed.  It  requires  the  support,  not  merely 
of  a  high  aim,  but  of  a  divine  principle ;  and  such  is  faith. 

Here  faith  is  regarded  not  merely  as  a  ground  of  belief, 
nor  yet  in  its  relations  to  a  mode  of  justification  by  God,  but 
3 


18 

as  a  principle  of  action.  Being  not  simply  belief,  but  confi- 
dence, and  belief  only  from  confidence,  it  takes  hold  of  the 
emotive  nature,  and  so  may  become  a  principle  of  action. 
Being  confidence  in  God,  it  may  become  the  strongest,  the 
deepest,  the  most  pervading,  as  well  as  the  most  rational 
principle  by  which  we  can  be  moved.  This  is  needed,  not 
by  missionaries  only.  It  has  been,  and  is,  distinctively,  the 
religious  principle — the  source  of  strength  and  endurance  to 
the  whole  church.  This,  as  was  just  said,  is  a  divine  prin- 
ciple. It  is  apart  from  all  others  ;  it  may  be  opposed  to 
them.  It  does  not  judge  by  sense,  or  by  past  experience. 
Let  its  warrant  be  clear,  and  it  knows  nothing  of  difficulties 
or  impossibilities.  It  says,  "  With  God  all  things  are  pos- 
sible." If  called  upon  to  step  out  of  the  ship  into  the  water, 
it  will  step  out.  It  believes  in  a  God  who  is  mightier  than 
nature ;  and  hence  its  range  of  expectation  is  not  limited  by 
nature,  and  it  can  believe  in  future  events,  and  labor  for 
future  consummations,  of  which  nature  and  experience  can 
furnish  no  ground  of  expectation.  Hence,  too,  to  those  who 
judge  from  nature  and  experience  only,  its  projects  must 
seem  madness,  its  hope  delusive,  and  its  labors  inexplicable. 
By  those  of  them  who  condescend  to  notice  it  at  all,  it  is 
looked  upon  with  a  pity,  sometimes  wondering,  but  oftener 
derisive.  This  antagonism  has  always  existed,  and  always 
will.  But  faith  holds  on  its  way,  and  the  mockers  die,  and 
the  great  plans  of  God,  of  which  they  never  had  even  a 
glimpse,  move  on.  This  is  no  untried  principle.  At  the 
opening  of  the  old  dispensation,  in  connection  with  the  very 
promise  referred  to  in  the  text,  God  purposely  laid  upon  it  a 
stress  and  a  pressure  that  tested  its  power.  "  By  faith,  Abra- 
ham, when  he  was  called  to  go  out  into  a  place  which  he 
should  afterwards  receive  for  an  inheritance,  obeyed,  and  he 
went  out,  not  knowing  whither  he  went."  "By  faith,  when 
he  was  tried,  he  offered  up  Isaac,  and  he  that  had  received 
the  promises  offered  up  his  only  begotten  son,  of  whom  it 


19 

was  said,  that  in  Isaac  shall  thy  seed  be  called."  "  He  stag- 
gered not  at  the  promise  of  God  through  unbelief,  but  was 
strong  in  faith,  giving  glory  to  God."  "  By  faith,"  also, 
"Moses,"  the  head  of  the  Jewish  dispensation,  "esteemed 
the  reproaches  of  Christ  greater  riches  than  the  treasures  of 
Egypt,  and  endured  as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible."  "  By 
faith,  the  Israelites  passed  through  the  Red  Sea ; "  by  faith 
the  ancient  worthies  performed  their  wonders.  Nor  has  this 
principle  lost  its  power  under  the  new  dispensation.  It  sup- 
ported the  Apostles  as  it  did  Abraham.  It  sustained  the 
martyrs.  It  carried  Luther  to  the  Diet  of  Worms.  It  led 
our  Pilgrim  Fathers  across  the  ocean  ;  and  when  modern 
missionaries  have  gone  out,  like  Abraham,  into  some  place 
which  the  church  should  afterwards  receive  for  an  inher- 
itance, not  knowing  whither  they  went,  they  have  gone  by 
faith.  And  so  they  go  now,  thus  honoring  the  Lord  Jesus, 
and  giving  the  best  possible  testimony  to  the  value  of  that 
salvation  which  he  came  to  bring.  No,  this  principle  has 
not  lost  its  power  ;  it  never  can  lose  it  while  God  lives,  and 
man  is  his  child. 

Having  thus  considered  the  points  proposed,  I  ask  you  to 
notice  their  remarkable  combination  in  the  text.  We  have 
here,  not  only  the  promise  of  a  universal  religion,  so  wonder- 
ful ;  and  its  freeness  by  which  it  is  fitted  to  become  universal, 
not  less  wonderful ;  and  the  promise  as  the  sole  basis  of  our 
expectation,  putting  this  religion  wholly  aside  from  nature 
and  above  it ;  but  in  our  labors  to  make  this  religion  univer- 
sal, we  have  the  impulse  and  strength  of  that  very  confidence 
by  which  the  promise  was  originally  accepted,  and  by  which 
we  ourselves  accepted  of  a  free  salvation. 

From  this  subject  I  observe,  first,  that  the  object  of  the 
missionary  is  the  noblest  that  can  call  forth  the  energies  of 
man.  Some  labor  solely  for  pay.  These  are  hirelings. 
Some,   again,   labor  from  the  inspiration   of   the   idea  they 


20 

would  realize.  It  is  in  them  as  a  fire  in  their  bones,  and  if 
it  be  a  moral  one,  they  are  moulded  into  its  image.  Such  are 
artists,  patriots,  philanthropists,  heroes  ;  and  of  the  kind  of 
inspiration  that  is  in  all  these,  there  can  be  no  more  perfect 
example  than  the  true  missionary.  His  object  is  wider  in  its 
range,  and  more  beneficial  in  its  results,  than  any  other. 
Men  labor  for  civil  liberty  and  human  rights,  but  a  thorough 
religious  revolution  and  renovation  would  involve  such  indi- 
vidual, as  well  as  social  and  civil  changes,  as  would  secure 
all  the  rights  and  the  highest  well-being  of  man.  Let  there 
but  be  the  spiritual  regeneration  of  all  into  the  image  of  one 
who  represents  a  perfect  manhood ;  let  there  be  the  mutual 
attractions  which  must  flow  from  such  a  similarity ;  let  there 
be  the  subjection  of  all  to  the  same  moral  laws,  and  the  union 
of  all  in  love  to  the  same  common  Saviour,  and  the  best  pur- 
poses of  all  revolutions  would  be  reached.  Society  would 
be  moulded  into  the  image  of  heaven. 

We  see,  in  the  second  place,  that  the  missionary  work  is 
not  chimerical,  and  the  certainty  of  the  ultimate  triumph  of 
the  religion  of  the  Bible. 

This  idea  of  a  universal  religion,  as  we  have  seen,  origi- 
nated with  God  ;  its  realization  was  foretold  by  his  prophets 
in  the  darkest  hours ;  it  was  adopted  by  the  Saviour ;  was 
made  by  him  a  purpose  and  a  command ;  and  we  have  reason 
to  believe,  from  the  movements  of  Providence,  and  from  the 
fact  that  the  religious  nature  is  central  in  man,  that  this  is  the 
central  idea  in  the  administration  of  the  world.  Nothing 
short  of  this  has  ever  been  proposed  by  the  church  of  Christ ; 
and  now,  when  she  is  awake  to  it  as  but  once  before,  how 
grandly  does  the  voice  of  the  old  promise,  that  has  bided  its 
time  for  four  thousand  years,  mingle  itself  with  the  expectations 
and  hopes  of  an  awakening  race,  with  the  portents  of  change, 
and  with  those  movements  of  Providence  which  have  been  of 
late,  and  are  now  as  the  sound  of  a  going  in  the  tops  of  the 
mulberry  trees. 


'21 

Only  when  the  time  is  ripe,  do  great  events  spring  from 
little  causes.     It  is  but  fifty-one  years  ago,  that  a  few  young 
men  knelt  in  prayer  for  the  heathen,  beside  a  haystack.     As 
their  prayers  ceased,  the  sun,  which  had  been  hidden  by  a 
passing  storm,  shone  forth,  and  the  bow  of  promise  spanned 
the  eastern  sky.     It  was  the  token  of  God  upon  the  cloud. 
From  that  day  to  this,  his  smile  has  rested  on  the  cause.     It 
is  less  than  fifty  years  since  the   American  Board,  of  which 
that  meeting  was  the  germ,  was  formed,  and  now  it  may  be 
said  of  its  missionary  stations,  as  has  been  said  of  the  mili- 
tary posts   of  Great  Britain,  that  the  sun  never  sets   upon 
them.     As  he  rises   in  the  farthest  East,  he  beholds  them, 
first,  in   China,  then  in  India,  then  in   Persia,  then  in  the 
Turkish  empire,  then  in  Western  Africa,  then  among  the 
Indians  on  this  continent,  then  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and 
then  in  Micronesia;  thus   belting  the  globe.     Not  by   the 
drum-beat,  calling  to  arms,  are  his  morning  beams  welcomed 
at  all  these  stations  ;  but  by  the  voice   of  prayer,   and  the 
proclamation  of  "  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men."     Every 
where  those  walls  of  exclusion  which,  fifty  years  ago,  rose  to 
the  very  heavens,   are  prostrate.     Every  where  there  is   a 
feeling   of  unrest,  and  of  indefinite  yearning,  and  the  moral 
and  social  elements  of  a  world  wait  the  plastic  hand  of  a  pure 
Christianity.     The   period    of    those    dispersions    by   which 
relations  were  sundered,  is  now  past.     The  divergency  Avas 
not,  as  it  seemed,  in   straight  lines,  but  upon  a  globe,  and  in 
a  circle  which  now  tends  to   its  completion.     The  tendency 
to  unity  through  science,  the  arts,  and  commerce,  as  well  as 
through  missionary  labors,  is  not  less  remarkable  than  the 
original  tendency  to  dispersion.     The  nations  are  fast  nearing 
a   point    of   intercommunication   and    reciprocal    influence, 
where  that  which  is   effete  must  be   swept  away,  and  that 
which  is  artificial  must  be  destroyed  ;  and  the  feebler  moral 
forces  must  give  way  before  those  which  have  an  undying 
life  from  nature  and  from   God.     Towards  this  point  there 


22 


has  been  a  tendency  from  the  beginning.  The  movement 
has  indeed  been  slow,  and  not  such  as  man  would  have 
expected  ;  but  it  has  been  analogous  to  the  great  movements 
of  God  in  his  providence  and  in  his  works.  So,  if  we  may 
credit  the  geologists,  has  this  earth  reached  its  present  state. 
So  have  moved  on  the  great  empires.  So  retribution  follows 
crime.  So  rise  the  tides.  So  grows  the  tree,  with  long 
intervals  of  repose  and  of  apparent  death.  So  comes  on  the 
spring,  with  battling  elements  and  frequent  reverses,  with 
snow-banks  and  violets,  and,  if  we  had  no  experience,  we 
might  be  doubtful  what  the  end  would  be.  But  we  know 
that  back  of  all  this,  beyond  these  fluctuations,  away  in  the 
serene  heavens,  the  sun  is  moving  steadily  on ;  that  these 
very  agitations  of  the  elements  and  seeming  reverses,  are  not 
only  the  sign,  but  the  result  of  his  approach,  and  that  the 
full  warmth  and  radiance  of  the  summer  noontide  are  sure  to 
come.  So,  O  Divine  Redeemer,  Sun  of  Righteousness,  come 
thou !  So  will  He  come.  It  may  be  through  clouds  and 
darkness  and  tempest ;  but  the  heaven  where  He  is,  is 
serene ;  He  is  "  travelling  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength ; " 
and  as  surely  as  the  throne  of  God  abides,  we  know  He  shall 
yet  reach  the  height  and  splendor  of  the  highest  noon,  and 
that  the  light  of  millennial  glory  shall  flood  the  earth. 

Who  then  is  in  sympathy  with  Christ  ?     What  are  we 
willing  to  do  to  help  forward  this  great  cause  ? 


RELIGIOUS    TEACHING    AND    WORSHIP. 


S  E  11  M  0  N  , 


PREACHED    AT    THE 


DEDICATION  OF  THE  NEW  CHAPEL, 


CONNECTED   WITH 


WILLIAMS   COLLEGE. 


SEPT,    22,     1859 


BY    MARK    HOPKINS,    D.D. 

President  of  the  College. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &   SON,   42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
18  5  9. 


NOTE. 

The  views  presented  in  this  Discourse  are  in  accordance  with  the 
views  of  the  Trustees  of  the  College,  upon  the  importance  of  discussing 
the  truths  of  revelation,  as  well  as  the  principles  of  science. 

The  President  was  requested  to  preach  the  Dedication  Sermon  himself, 
and  to  make  the  religious  teaching  in  the  College  the  principal  topic. 

EMERSON  DAVIS, 

Chairman  of  Committee. 


At  a  meeting  of  Graduates  of  the  College,  held  in  Alumni  Hall  imme- 
diately after  the  Dedication  of  the  new  Chapel,  it  was  unanimously 
voted  to  request  a  copy  of  the  Discourse,  delivered  on  that  occasion,  for 
publication. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


SERMON. 


MATTHEW  vn.  25. 

AND  IT  FELL  NOT  ;  FOR  IT  WAS  FOUNDED  UPON  A  ROCK. 

A  rock  is  the  emblem  of  stability.  The  winds 
sweep  over  it ;  the  waters  glide  past  it ;  the  sands 
shift  around  it ;  the  tree  by  it  grows  and  decays  ; 
the  boy  looks  upon  it,  and  passes  into  life,  and 
fights  its  battles,  and  returns  with  white  locks  and 
a  feeble  step,  and  there  it  remains  unchanged. 
Relatively  to  all  things  around  it,  it  seems  to  be, 
and  it  is,  stable.  And  yet,  emblem  though  it  be  of 
stability,  it  is  not  itself  really  stable.  It  is  not  so 
in  fact,  or  as  related  to  forces  that  may  act  upon  it. 
In  common  with  the  earth,  of  which  it  is  a  part,  it 
has  a  motion  far  more  rapid  than  a  cannon  ball, 
and  there  are  known  forces  that  can  heave,  and 
rend,  and  fuse  every  rock  on  the  surface  of  the 
globe,  or  within  its  depths. 

What,  then,  is  that  which  is  really  stable,  and  of 
which  a  rock  is  the  emblem  1  It  is  God,  and  his 
purposes.  "  He  is  the  Rock,"  He  only.  With 
Him  there  is  "  no  variableness,  neither  shadow  of 
turning."  He  is  "  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
forever."     All   matter   is    fluent.      So   far   as   we 


know,  or  have  reason  to  ieve,  there  is  not  a 
particle  of  it  in  the  universe  that  is  not  in  motion  ; 
and  aside  from  God,  and  independent  of  Him, 
it  has  no  permanent  existence.  He  created  and 
upholds  it,  and  it  is  entirely  flexible  and  plastic 
in  his  hands  ;  while  He  abides  forevermore.  As 
saith  the  Scripture,  "  Of  old  hast  thou  laid  the 
foundation  of  the  earth ;  and  the  heavens  are  the 
work  of  thine  hands.  They  shall  perish,  but  thou 
shalt  endure :  yea,  all  of  them  shall  wax  old  like  a 
garment ;  as  a  vesture  shalt  thou  change  them, 
and  they  shall  be  changed  :  but  thou  art  the  same, 
and  thy  years  shall  have  no  end."  "  He  is  the 
Rock."  He  "  only  hath  immortality,"  that  is,  hath 
within  himself,  and  in  virtue  of  his  own  original 
mode  of  being,  a  permanent,  unclecaying,  and  un- 
changing existence. 

But  the  purposes  of  God  are  as  unchangeable  as 
his  being.  "  He  is  in  one  mind,  and  who  can  turn 
him  ]  and  what  his  soul  desireth,  even  that  he 
doeth."  "  For  I,"  says  he,  "  am  the  Lord ;  I 
change  not."  "  His  way  is  perfect,"  and  therefore 
unchangeable  ;  but  this  is  the  result  of  his  pur- 
poses. The  reasons  on  which  these  are  based,  can 
never  be  seen  in  a  new  light,  and  so  they  cannot 
change.  As  the  purposes  of  God  grow  out  of  his 
perfections,  while  those  perfections  abide,  his  pur- 
poses must  abide  also. 

In  these  purposes  of  God,  so  far  as  we  can  ascer- 
tain them,  we  find  a  test  of  wisdom  in  all  arrange- 
ments of  men  in  their  individual  concerns,  and  in 
all  founding  and   ordering  of  public  institutions. 


Whatever  there  is  in  the  purposes  and  work  of  any 
of  God's  creatures,  that  coincides  with  his  purposes 
and  work,  will  be  wrought  into  that  structure  which 
God  is  rearing,  and  will  stand  ;  and  whatever  does 
not  coincide  with  those  purposes  will  not  stand. 
It  will  be  counterworked,  will  end  in  disaster,  and 
be  buried  in  oblivion.  The  works  of  man,  origin- 
ated in  his  own  wisdom,  and  conducted  for  his  own 
ends,  may  seem  to  prosper  for  a  time.  They  may 
go  up,  as  did  the  tower  of  Babel,  but  they  shall  not 
inherit  the  ages ;  God  will  send  confusion  upon 
them,  and  they  shall  cease,  and  perish  forever.  He 
therefore,  and  he  only,  is  wise,  who  intends  to  work, 
and  does  work,  both  in  accordance  with  those  pur- 
poses, and  in  furtherance  of  them. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  there  is  a  sense  in  which 
all  things  are  included  in  the  divine  purposes ;  and 
to  reconcile  this  with  the  free-agency  and  responsi- 
bility of  man,  has  been  the  labor  of  many.  This 
we  shall  not  attempt  here.  For  all  practical  pur- 
poses, the  view  of  God  and  his  government  given 
in  the  parable  of  the  tares,  is  the  true  one.  The 
husbandman  sowed  wheat.  It  was  his  purpose  to 
raise  wheat.  An  enemy  sowed  tares.  Here  was 
something  not  at  all  so  in  accordance  with  his  pur- 
pose as  was  the  sowing  of  the  wheat — something 
to  be  in  some  way  counteracted.  For  a  wise  rea- 
son, he  suffered  the  tares  to  grow  with  the  wheat 
till  the  harvest.  Then  they  were  gathered  together 
into  bundles  to  be  burned.  So  it  is  now.  There 
is  wheat,  and  there  are  tares ;  they  grow  together. 
The  purpose  of  God  is  the  growth  and  harvesting  of 


6 

the  wheat.  In  these  he  permits  us  to  aid,  and  in 
this,  and  this  only,  is  there  wisdom.  The  wheat 
shall  be  gathered  into  the  garner  and  be  preserved ; 
the  tares  shall  be  burned. 

The  purposes  of  God  are  indicated  in  the  struc- 
ture of  his  works  ;  in  his  providence ;  and  in  his 
word  ;  and  these  conspire  in  showing  that  man  was 
made  for  religion.  Aside  from  the  word  of  God ; 
aside  from  history,  which  is,  or  ought  to  be,  but  a 
record  of  his  providence,  and  the  philosophy  of 
which  will  always  show  a  religious  purpose,  there 
can  be  no  fair  analysis  of  man  that  will  not  give  the 
religious  powers  as  deeper  and  more  radical  than 
any  others.  It  is  not,  therefore,  more  obvious  that 
the  eyes  were  made  for  seeing,  or  the  feet  for  walk- 
ing, than  that  God  intended  that  the  relation  of 
man  to  himself,  should  be  his  great  and  central 
and  all-harmonizing  relation ;  and  that  man  should 
know,  and  love,  and  worship,  and  obey  Him.  For 
these  man  has  capacities,  these  are  the  highest  uses 
to  which  those  capacities  can  be  put,  and  the  high- 
est use  to  which  a  capacity  can  be  put,  is  always 
that  for  which  God  intended  it.  But  to  know,  and 
love,  and  worship,  and  obey  God,  is  to  be  religious. 
These  are  the  whole  of  religion.  We  may,  indeed, 
say  that  the  whole  of  religion  is  to  know  and  love 
God  ;  but  from  these,  worship  and  obedience  ema- 
nate as  light  from  the  sun,  and  are  so  inseparable 
from  them,  that  they  may  well  be  mentioned  as  its 
constituent  parts. 

"We  cannot  then  be  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
we  are  working  in  accordance  with  the  purposes  of 


God,  and  with  Him,  in  doing  what  we  may  to  lead 
men  to  know,  and  love,  and  worship,  and  obey 
him.  It  is  the  business  of  education  in  its  broadest 
sense,  excluding  all  that  is  professional,  and  regard- 
ing man  solely  as  man — that  is,  of  a  liberal,  in 
distinction  from  a  professional  education — to  form 
man  to  be  all  that  God  intended  he  should  be ;  or, 
at  least,  to  go  as  far  towards  this  as  is  possible.  If 
this  work  is  beyond  the  reach  of  education  alone, 
and  the  aids  of  his  own  Spirit  and  grace  are  needed 
for  its  accomplishment,  then  must  we  recognize  the 
necessity  of  such  aids,  we  must  seek  them,  and 
work  in  harmony  with  them. 

That  this  is  the  true  view  of  education,  seems 
self-evident  when  it  is  stated.  It  simply  implies 
that  God  intended  that  man  should  be  all  he  ought 
to  be.  It  is  only  thus  that  man  can  work  in  har- 
mony with  God.  Expressed  in  a  different  form,  by 
those  who  do  not  care  to  recognize  God,  this  is 
really  at  the  basis  of  all  those  great  changes  and 
simplifications  which  have  been  made  in  the  theory 
of  government,  in  political  economy,  in  the  treat- 
ment of  disease,  and  in  vital  and  social  problems 
generally,  by  the  system  of  what  is  called  "  letting 
alone,"  or  "  trusting  to  nature ; "  implying  that 
there  are  ends  proposed  in  nature,  and  that  towards 
those  ends  there  are  tendencies  and  movements 
which  it  is  the  great  business  of  practical  wisdom 
to  recognize  and  aid.  To  deny  that  God  has  a 
purpose  and  agency  in  this  matter,  would  be  athe- 
ism. But  if  He  has,  and  we  cannot  know  what 
that  purpose  is,  there  can  never  be  a  perfect  system 


8 

of  education.  The  formative  agencies  would  be 
discrepant,  and  the  result  disastrous.  But  if  we 
can  know  that  it  is  the  purpose  of  God  to  bring 
men,  with  faculties  enlarged  and  trained,  through 
the  knowledge  of  himself,  through  love  and  worship 
and  obedience,  into  conformity  with  himself,  and 
so  into  right  relations  with  all  their  fellow  creatures, 
then  we  may  be  sure  that  any  institution  which 
shall  really  accomplish  this,  or  aid  in  it,  will  be 
founded  upon  a  rock,  and  will  stand. 

This  general  purpose  we  wish  it  to  be  the  object 
of  this  College  to  promote.  This  is  the  grand, 
comprehensive,  ultimate  object  at  which  we  would 
aim.  Nor,  in  our  view  of  it,  would  this  restrict  at 
all  the  course  of  liberal  study,  but  would  rather 
enlarge  it.  We  believe  that  all  scientific  knowl- 
edge, and  all  knowledge  that  ought  to  enter  into  a 
course  of  liberal  study,  has  a  tendency  to  lead  men 
to  God.  Let  the  eye  be  but  purged,  and  it  will  do 
this  ;  and  then,  the  relations  of  men  to  God  being 
rightly  adjusted,  we  believe  that  those  of  men 
to  each  other  will  fall  into  harmony  of  their  own 
accord. 

Of  the  four  constituents  of  religion  mentioned 
above,  knowledge  is  a  necessary  condition,  but  may 
exist  by  itself  without  religion ;  while  the  other 
three  are  essential  elements.  Of  these,  love  and 
obedience  are  wholly  individual  and  personal. 
Being  inward  and  spiritual,  they  must  come  from 
the  affections  and  will  of  each  individual  by  an  act 
in  which  no  one  else  can  have  any  share,  or,  the 
conditions  being  given,  can  render  any  aid.     In 


9 

these  indispensable,  greatest,  and  most  central  ele- 
ments of  religion,  each  individual  must  be  wholly 
by  himself  before  God.  But  in  gaining  a  knowledge 
of  God  and  of  religion,  we  may  be  aided  by  others  ; 
and  worship  may  be  social,  and  we  may  be  aided 
in  that.  In  short,  in  gaining  knowledge,  and  in 
worship,  we  may  make  use  of  means,  while  love 
and  obedience  are  simple  acts  that  do  not,  strictly 
speaking,  admit  of  means.  Accordingly,  provision 
can  be  made  in  our  public  institutions  not  strictly 
for  religion  in  its  essence,  but  only  for  teaching, 
and  for  worship  ;  and  the  simple  question  is,  what 
this  provision  shall  be.     And  first,  of  teaching. 

So  far  as  teaching  is  concerned,  this  question 
has  chief  relation  to  revealed  theology.  In  many, 
perhaps  the  most,  of  our  higher  institutions,  some 
treatise  on  Natural  Theology  is  studied.  Often 
there  is  a  lesson  in  the  Greek  Testament  Monday 
morning,  or  in  Biblical  Geography.  Perhaps  the 
Evidences  of  Christianity  are  studied ;  but  when  the 
question  is,  whether  the  inquiry  shall  be  raised  in 
the  class-room  what  Christianity  is,  and  whether, 
in  their  connections  with  that,  the  highest  and 
deepest  questions  which  connect  themselves  with 
human  life  and  God's  government  shall  be  there 
discussed,  there  is  a  difference  of  opinion. 

Practically,  there  has  been  a  great  change  on  this 
point.  Originally,  education  was  almost  wholly 
under  the  auspices  of  religion,  and  its  institutions 
were  founded  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  raising  up 
a  learned  as  well  as  a  godly  ministry.  Very  differ- 
ent from  the  present,  both  in  direct  teaching,  and  in 


10 


their  modes  of  inter  penetration,  must  have  been 
the  general  relation  of  education  and  religion  when 
such  laws  as  the  following,  once  those  of  Harvard 
College,  could  have  been  adopted. 

"  Every  one  shall  consider  the  main  end  of  his 
life  and  studies,  to  know  God  and  Jesus  Christ, 
which  is  eternal  life." 

"  Seeing  the  Lord  giveth  wisdom,  every  one  shall 
seriously,  by  prayer  in  secret,  seek  wisdom  of 
Him." 

"  Every  one  shall  so  exercise  himself  in  reading 
the  Scriptures  twice  a  day,  that  they  be  ready  to 
give  an  account  of  their  proficiency  therein,  both 
in  theoretical  observations  of  language,  in  logic, 
and  in  practical  and  spiritual  truths,  as  their  Tutor 
shall  require,  according  to  their  several  abilities 
respectively,  seeing  the  entrance  of  the  word  giveth 
light,"  and  when  the  only  literary  condition  of 
receiving  the  first  degree  was  that  the  scholar  "  is 
found  able  to  read  the  original  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament  into  the  Latin  tongue,  and  to  resolve 
them  logically."* 

Since  that  time  the  tendency  has  been  to  separate 
the  teachings  and  discussions  of  the  class-room  from 
religion.  This  has  arisen  partly  from  the  larger 
number  of  those  having  in  view  other  callings  than 
the  ministry  who  have  sought  a  liberal  education, 
and  from  the  feeling  that  young  men  generally 
could  not  be  interested  in  the  discussion  of  the 
higher  questions  of  theology ;  partly  from  the  great 
number  of  new  and  exciting  subjects  requiring  to 

*  Quincy's  History  of  Harvard  College,  pp.  515  and  517. 


11 

be  taught ;  and  partly  from  multiplied  differences 
of  religious  opinion  in  the  community,  inducing  a 
fear  of  the  imputation  of  sectarianism.  And  this 
has  gone  on,  till  now,  in  the  course  of  study  pub- 
lished by  some  of  our  higher  institutions,  not  a 
vestige  of  instruction  distinctively  religious  is  left. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  the  West- 
minster Catechism  was  studied  in  Yale  College, 
and  was  transferred  from  there  here  ;  for  eight  out 
of  thirteen  of  the  first  Trustees  of  this  College  were 
graduates  of  Yale.  At  what  time  it  was  discon- 
tinued there  I  do  not  know,  but  here  it  has  remain- 
ed, and  has  always  furnished,  and  does  now,  the 
regular  exercise  for  the  Senior  Class  every  Saturday 
forenoon.  So  far  as  I  know,  we  are  alone  in  retain- 
ing this,  or  any  thing  analogous,  in  the  course  of 
college  instruction  ;  and  most  persons  are  surprised 
when  it  is  stated  that  it  is  so  retained. 

Are  we  then  wrong  %  If  not,  by  what  principle 
are  we  to  be  guided  \ 

It  is  now  conceded,  that  a  college  course  should 
have  chief  relation  to  man  as  man,  and  so  is  to 
be  the  common  basis  and  preparation  for  all  the 
professions.  Theology  may  not,  therefore,  be  stud- 
ied in  College  professionally,  but  only  as  a  part 
of  a  liberal  education.  May  it  be  thus  studied  ? 
We  think  it  not  only  may,  but  ought  to  be.  A 
liberal  education,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  the 
training  of  man  to  be  what  God  intended  he  should 
be.  Unless  this  deep  and  serious  view  is  retained, 
the  business  of  education  will  degenerate  into  a 
mere  trade.     Men  will   cease  to  work  with   God 


12 

and  for  Him,  and  will  work  for  money.  But  aside 
from  this  view,  in  saying  what  we  do,  we  do  not 
place  Theology  on  ground  different  from  that  of 
the  other  professions,  or  of  the  studies  generally. 
No  man  has  a  culture  truly  liberal,  who  is  not 
acquainted  with  the  general  principles,  and  great 
outlines,  of  all  the  departments  of  knowledge. 
Between  these,  and  the  knowledge  needed  by  the 
professional  man,  the  line  is  sufficiently  distinct, 
and  these  it  is  the  business  of  the  college  course 
to  give.  Thus  we  do  not  teach  a  man  to  be  a 
physician,  but  we  do  teach  Anatomy  and  Physi- 
ology— and  these  lie  at  the  basis  of  medical  prac- 
tice— so  far  as  to  give  a  general  knowledge  of 
the  human  frame,  of  its  place  in  the  scale  of  God's 
works,  and  of  the  mode  of  preserving  health.  We 
do  not  teach  men  to  be  lawyers,  but  we  do  teach 
them  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  giving 
them  a  knowledge  of  the  institutions  under  which 
they  live,  and  involving  the  general  principles  of 
law ;  and  gladly  would  we  have,  as  the  Institution 
had  in  its  early  history,  a  course  of  Lectures  on 
those  principles,  or  have  studied,  as  there  formerly 
was,  a  book  (Vattell)  on  the  Law  of  Nations.  We 
do  not  teach  men  to  be  engineers,  but  we  teach 
them  the  Mathematics  by  which  they  may  become 
so.  We  do  not  make  men  specialists,  of  any  kind ; 
but  we  teach  the  outlines,  and  general  principles, 
which  give  comprehension  and  guidance  in  all 
specialties,  and  we  see  no  good  reason  why  religion 
should  be  an  exception. 

But  while  we  see  no  good  reason  why  religion 


13 


should  be  an  exception,  we  see  strong  ones  why 
it  should  not.  Among  these  are  the  relation  of  re- 
ligious truths  to  other  truths ;  and  to  the  human 
mind. 

These,  that  is,  religious  truths,  are  the  high  table 
lands.  Here  arise  the  great  rivers  of  thought  and 
of  influence.  Here  are  the  mysteries,  and  though 
we  may  not  find  the  head  of  the  Nile,  yet  hither 
must  our  explorations  tend,  and  in  this  direction 
must  our  approximations  be  found.  To  deep  think- 
ers, all  other  speculations,  severed  from  those  that 
are  religious,  must  seem  fragmentary  and  inade- 
quate. 

But  it  is  chiefly  from  their  relation  to  the  human 
mind,  as  stimulating  and  formative,  that  religious 
truths  are  demanded  as  a  part  of  a  liberal  education. 
If  education  is  to  be  superficial,  to  consist  of  accom- 
plishments, and  information,  and  of  what  can  be 
given  by  others,  then  these  truths  may  be  dispensed 
with.  But  if  the  human  soul  has  capacities  to  be 
reverently  approached  and  drawn  out,  and  the  best 
education  is  in  that ;  if  reflection  is  to  be  induced  ; 
if  the  problems  of  human  destiny  are  to  be  wrestled 
with  ;  if  its  latent  powers  and  highest  affinities  are 
to  be  aroused ;  if  the  great  deep  of  an  immortal 
nature  is  to  be  stirred  and  heaved  from  centre  to 
circumference,  so  that  the  deep  that  is  in  man  shall 
call  back  to  the  infinite  depths  there  are  in  the 
universe  and  in  God  ;  then  we  must  have  the  power, 
quickening  and  formative,  of  religious  truth.  It  is 
only  heavenly  bodies  that  these  deep  tidal  waves 
obey.     Men  may  refine,  and  file,  and  polish  as  they 


14 


will ;  they  may  cry  out  Enthusiasm  !  Fanaticism  ! 
Nineteenth  Century !  to  their  heart's  content ;  but 
if  they  construct  a  system  of  education  that  shall 
ignore  the  highest  powers  and  the  deepest  wants  of 
man,  they  may  set  themselves  apart  in  their  own 
niches,  quiet  it  may  be,  and  the  forces  and  move- 
ments of  society  will  rise  and  roar  around  them,  and 
sweep  by  them,  but  with  their  origin  or  direction 
they  will  have  little  to  do.  What  we  wish  is  a 
system  of  education  that  shall  first  be  true  to  our 
nature,  and  then  in  full  and  living  sympathy  with 
the  times. 

But  can  there  be  such  teaching  without  fostering 
a  spirit  of  sectarianism  and  of  bigotry  ?  If  not,  it 
ought  not  to  be.  Here,  however,  it  must  be  observ- 
ed, that  sectarianism  has  more  than  one  basis  ;  and 
that  the  chief  one  is  not  doctrines,  but  rites,  and 
forms,  and  modes  of  organization  and  government ; 
and  attention  to  these  would  not  be  required  by  the 
objects  of  a  college  course.  It  is  in  these  latter 
that  we  find  the  whole  difference  and  ground  of 
separation  between  Congregationalists,  Presbyte- 
rians, Episcopalians  and  Baptists.  I  say,  the  whole 
difference,  because  there  is  no  doctrine,  properly 
such,  held  by  either  as  a  test,  which  would  exclude 
a  man  from  any  of  the  others.  So  far,  then,  there 
would  be  no  objection. 

But  even  if  there  be  a  difference  in  doctrine,  it 
would  be  sad  if  a  teacher  may  not  so  understand 
his  position  as  to  deal  fairly  with  the  human  mind — 
if  he  may  not  introduce  young  men  to  subjects 
pertaining  to  God  and  immortality,  and  infinity, 


15 

without  being  a  partisan.  Let  perfect  freedom  of 
questioning  and  discussion  be,  as  it  always  has 
been  here,  by  me  at  least,  not  only  conceded,  but 
encouraged,  and  there  will  be  little  danger  that 
young  men,  most  of  them  past  their  majority,  with 
good  native  powers  and  trained  minds,  will  be 
unduly  biased. 

The  truth  is,  that  through  revealed  religion  we 
best  approach  the  deepest  and  most  vital  problems 
of  life — those  which  belong  to  all  ages  and  to  men 
every  where,  whether  Christian  or  heathen,  and  in 
the  presence  of  which  every  thoughtful  man  must 
at  some  time  stand.  These  problems  revelation 
solves  in  its  own  way,  and  there  is  no  higher  task 
for  reason  than  to  find  its  own  limits  in  connection 
with  these  problems,  and  to  reconcile  the  solutions 
of  revelation  with  its  own  independent  laws  and 
processes.  In  this,  some  diversity  of  views  must 
be  expected ;  but  why  should  not  the  teacher  and 
the  pupil  view  Niagara  together,  and  calculate  its 
height,  and  the  mass  of  its  waters,  though  they  may 
differ  as  to  their  source,  or  the  origin  of  the  preci- 
pice over  which  they  fall  1  The  interest  and  power 
of  education  must  depend  on  the  interest  and  power 
of  the  subjects  with  which  it  deals,  and  no  man  can 
feel  greatly  indebted  to  his  education,  or  his  teacher, 
who  has  not  found  some  great  want  of  his  nature 
met,  and  received  aid  at  the  points  of  severest 
struggle.  And  is  a  liberal  education  to  be  deprived 
of  its  grandest  inspiration,  is  its  whole  field  to  be 
swept  of  its  mysteries  and  its  sublimities,  and  left 
to  utilities,  so  called,  and  to  prettinesses,  because 


16 

of  our  distrust  of  each  other,  and  especially  be- 
cause of  the  objections  of  those  whose  distrust  of 
individual  men  is  generally  in  proportion  to  their 
profession  of  belief  in  the  goodness  of  the  race  1 
We  trust  not. 

As  has  been  said,  this  instruction  was  continued 
here  in  the  form  in  which  it  was  commenced. 
When  it  became  my  duty  to  enter  upon  it,  it  was 
with  no  little  misgiving ;  but  I  now  wish  to  add  the 
testimony  of  experience  to  the  views  already  ex- 
pressed, and  to  say,  that  no  study  under  my  charge, 
and  with  one  or  two  exceptions  I  have  generally 
heard  all  those  of  the  Senior  year,  has  been  attend- 
ed to  with  an  interest  either  as  deep  or  as  general 
as  this.  In  proof  of  what  is  thus  said,  it  may  not 
be  amiss  for  me  to  confirm  the  statement  recently 
made,  though  by  no  agency  of  mine,  in  the  public 
prints,  that  the  classes  have,  not  once,  or  twice,  or 
thrice,  but  frequently,  requested  that  they  might 
have  an  hour  and  a  half  instead  of  an  hour  for 
this  recitation.  This,  with  any  power  of  teaching 
I  may  possess,  I  will  venture  to  say  never  could 
have  occurred  in  any  other  study. 

Thus  encouraged,  we  hope  that  what  has  been, 
will  continue  to  be.  And  we  hope  this  the  more, 
because,  by  the  munificence  and  wise  foresight  of 
Mr.  Jackson,  a  Professorship  of  Christian  Theology 
has  been  recently  established  in  this  College.  It 
was  indeed  the  view  of  Mr.  Jackson,  that  those 
who  should  desire  to  study  Theology  professionally, 
without  going  through  the  course  prescribed  by 
the   Seminaries,    should    have  the    opportunity  of 


17 

doing  so  here.  This  opportunity  will  be  given, 
as  we  may  be  able  ;  but  it  was  also  with  his  full 
consent  and  concurrence,  that  the  President  was 
appointed  on  his  foundation,  and  that  its  avails 
should  go,  in  part,  to  sustain  and  extend  the  relig- 
ious instruction  already  given  in  the  College. 

Thus,  while  we  would  welcome  every  new  science, 
we  would  not  discard  the  old ;  we  would  not,  under 
the  guise  of  progress  and  enlargement,  bring  in 
restriction  and  diminution ;  while  we  rejoice  in  the 
progress  of  physical  investigation,  while  we  are 
doing  what  we  can,  and  mean  to  do  much  to  enlarge 
our  means  of  instruction  in  this  direction,  we  would 
yet  preserve  the  balance;  we  would  not  mar  the 
circle  ;  we  do  not  believe  that  the  votaries  of  physi- 
cal science  '  are  the  only  people,  and  that  wisdom 
would  die  wTith  them ; '  and  however  high  they  may 
pile  the  mountains  of  their  own  department,  we 
would  say  to  them,  and  cause  it  to  be  felt,  that 
"  there  be  higher  than  they." 

Having  thus  spoken  of  religious  knowledge, 
which  is  the  first  great  object  to  which  this  house 
is  to  be  set  apart,  and  which  it  represents,  we  now 
turn  to  the  second,  which  is  worship.  This  is 
higher  than  knowledge,  because  knowledge  is  for 
worship.  Worship  is  no  unmeaning  form  repeated 
by  habit,  and  capable  of  coalescing  with  wicked- 
ness, or  of  being  commuted  for  it ;  it  is  no  blind  or 
mystic  impression  of  awe,  engendered  by  supersti- 
tion and  heightened  by  craft ;  it  is  no  mixture  of 
religious  emotions  with  those  of  art ;   but  has  its 

3 


18 

basis  in  a  rational  apprehension  of  the  attributes  of 
a  personal,  invisible,  and  holy  God.  It  can  be  truly 
performed  only  by  one  who  is  in  the  image  of  God, 
both  in  nature  and  in  character,  and  implies  the 
highest  possible  recognition  of  his  perfections  and 
complacency  in  them.  It  is,  therefore,  the  highest 
act  of  the  creature ;  and  the  question  is,  What  aid 
can  be  rendered  in  this  act  \ 

And  here  I  observe,  that  the  highest  worship  may 
exist  with  no  external  aid.  The  centre  and  essence 
of  all  worship  implies  a  recognition  of  the  person- 
ality and  holiness  of  God ;  and  in  the  discussion 
of  this  subject  we  are  never  to  forget  that  without 
this  there  can  be  no  worship.  A  pantheist  cannot 
worship ;  and  the  moment  there  is  a  tendency  to- 
wards pantheism,  worship  is  enervated,  and  mysti- 
cism and  sentimentalism  set  in.  But  this  recogni- 
tion of  the  personality  and  moral  attributes  of  God 
must  take  place  in  the  depths  of  the  soul,  and  can 
have  no  relation  to  place,  or  to  any  qualities  or 
combinations  of  matter.  These,  if  attractive,  as  in 
the  fine  arts,  may  be  unfavorable,  and  accordingly 
we  find  that  private  devotion,  where  every  thing  of 
this  kind  is  excluded,  is  especially  mentioned  by 
Christ  as  acceptable  to  God.  There  is  no  higher 
worship  than  that  which  may  be  rendered  by  him 
who  enters  into  his  closet,  and  shuts  the  door. 

But  this,  it  will  be  said,  is  private  worship, 
and  we  are  speaking  of  that  which  is  social  and 
public.  We  say,  then,  that  there  may  be  the 
highest  and  best  social  and  public  worship — if 
there   be    but    adequate    means    of    expression — 


19 

without  any  thing  addressed  to  the  eye,  or  the 
taste,  to  produce  an  impression.  If  not,  how  ought 
we  to  pity  the  Christians  of  the  first  two  cen- 
turies, who  had  no  paintings,  or  sculpture,  or 
architecture,  or  artistic  music,  to  aid  them  in  their 
worship  I  How  should  we  pity  the  poor  in  their 
log  cabins,  refined  and  devoted  though  they  may 
be,  in  their  family  devotions  1  How  those  whom,  in 
all  ages,  persecution  has  driven  into  mountains  and 
caves,  whence  their  prayers  and  their  songs  have 
gone  up  \  Is  it  not  enough  that  man  should  reject 
and  persecute  them,  but  will  God  too  avert,  or  half 
avert,  his  face,  because  they  are  poor  and  persecuted 
for  his  Name's  sake  ?  Nay,  verily.  If  there  is  wor- 
ship any  where  that  is  acceptable,  if  there  is  prayer 
any  where  that  enters  into  the  ears  of  the  Lord  of 
Sabaoth,  it  is  from  these.  Strange  indeed  would  it 
be,  if  He  who  waters  the  whole  earth  from  the 
heavens,  making  no  special  conduit  that  he  gives 
in  charge  to  any,  who  causes  the  springs  to  burst 
forth  from  every  hill-side,  who  hears  the  young 
ravens  when  they  cry,  who,  though  he  dwells  in  the 
high  and  holy  place,  dwells  also  with  him  that  is 
of  a  contrite  and  humble  spirit,  strange  if  He  should 
find  it  necessary  to  wait  for  his  childen  to  paint 
pictures,  and  carve  statuary,  and  frame  musical  in- 
struments, and  build  cathedrals,  before  he  could 
dwell  with  them,  or  they  could  love  and  adore  Him 
with  the  fullest  acceptance. 

But  are  there  no  aids  to  worship  X  Yes,  precisely 
as  there  are  to  music,  or  rather  to  musical  feeling : 
and  they  are  social  in  the  same  way.     For  every 


20 

thing  emotional  there  are  negative  conditions  that 
are  not  directly  aids,  yet  indispensable.  There  must 
be  nothing  to  distract  the  attention  ;  and  the  mind 
must  be  in  a  right  tone.  These  being  given,  emo- 
tion expressed  by  an  individual  will  communicate 
itself  to  others  ;  and  the  expression  of  it  by  a  mul- 
titude will  react  upon  the  individual.  In  these  two 
statements  we  have  the  whole  philosophy  of  this 
subject.  The  influence  is  vital,  and  not  mechanical. 
Life  is  from  life ;  and  all  life  is  originally  from  the 
Living  One.  As  fire  kindles  fire,  as  the  musical 
power  in  another  that  is  superior  to  ours  quickens 
our  power,  as  the  volume  of  sound  from  many  voices 
reacts  upon  us  solely  because  there  is  in  it  music 
expressed,  so  do  the  superior  devotion  of  another 
and  the  united  devotions  of  many,  and  they  only, 
quicken  our  devotion.  It  is  worship  expressed 
that  aids  worship,  and  nothing  else. 

On  this  whole  subject  of  worship,  as  connected 
with  the  fine  arts,  entire  coincidence  of  opinion 
and  feeling  are  not  to  be  expected.  The  slowness 
of  man  to  apprehend  God  as  a  spirit ;  his  aversion 
to  his  character  as  holy  ;  the  tendency  to  substitute 
resthetical  emotions  for  true  worship  ;  the  disturb- 
ing, and  often  capricious  influence  of  association 
and  habit ;  and  the  complexity  of  those  emotions 
which  may  be  associated,  perhaps  blended,  with  a 
true  worship,  are  such,  that  men  will  often  mistake 
their  own  position  and  feelings,  and  misjudge  those 
of  others.  Still,  if  a  man  say  that  he  can  worship 
God  better  by  means  of  architecture,  that  is,  of 
matter  in  the  form  of  a  building,  he  might  well  be 


21 

asked  how  he  would  answer  the  man  who  should 
say  that  he  could  worship  God  better  by  means  of 
matter  in  the  form  of  an  idol.  Certain  it  is,  if 
God  is  to  be  worshiped,  that  it  must  be  in  the 
apprehension  of  his  own  attributes  ;  certain  it  is, 
that  as  our  conceptions  of  Him  as  a  person  become 
more  distinct ;  as  the  glories  of  his  holiness  and 
mercy  are  more  revealed ;  as  ideas  distinctively 
Christian,  such  as  repentance,  faith,  obedience  and 
love,  become  more  immanent  and  controlling,  every 
thing  pertaining  to  art  must  either  wholly  disap- 
pear, or  dwindle  more  and  more,  till  we  reach  that 
direct  and  pure  worship  of  heaven  in  which  it  is 
more  than  intimated  that  no  aid  of  this  kind  can 
come  in.  "  And  I  saw,"  says  John,  "  no  temple 
therein ;  for  the  Lord  God  Almighty,  and  the 
Lamb,  are  the  temple  of  it." 

It  is  with  views  like  these  that  we  desire  and 
propose,  on  this  occasion,  in  the  name  of  the  Trus- 
tees and  Faculty  of  the  College,  of  the  Alumni 
and  Donors  who  have  contributed  to  its  erection, 
to  dedicate  this  house  to  the  service  of  Almighty 
God,  to  be  used  for  religious  teaching,  with  the 
fullest  proclamation  and  encouragement  of  the 
right  of  private  judgment ;  and  for  the  worship 
of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

The  building  to  be  thus  set  apart  will  be  the 
third  Chapel  used  by  the  College.  The  first  was 
in  the  south  end  of  the  second  and  third  stories  of 
the  West  College.  That  was  used  till  September  2d, 
1828.     At  that  time,  the  Chapel  in  the  building 


99 


opposite  was  dedicated.  That  building  was  erect- 
ed through  the  extraordinary  zeal  and  labors  of 
Dr.  Griffin.  Besides  the  Chapel  proper,  it  contained 
a  room  for  a  Library,  for  a  Cabinet,  for  the  Philo- 
sophical Apparatus,  and  for  Lectures.  Also  the 
Conference  Room,  the  Senior  Recitation  Room,  a 
room  for  the  Libraries  of  the  Societies,  and  a 
Chemical  Laboratory  and  Lecture  Room  ;  and  was 
supposed  to  contain  provision  for  all  the  wants  of 
the  College  in  these  departments  for  many  years,  if 
not  for  all  time.  But  soon  the  Society  Libraries 
outgrew  their  quarters  ;  then  the  Chemical  depart- 
ment spread  out  into  a  wing ;  then  the  place  for 
the  books  of  the  College  Library  became  too  strait, 
and  they  migrated  to  Lawrence  Hall ;  and  under 
the  command  of  Dr.  Emmons,  the  older  records  of 
the  creation  wheeled  into  their  places.  Then  the 
Seniors  were  obliged  to  swarm  into  the  Conference 
Room,  and  the  classes,  at  prayers,  to  scatter  them- 
selves, which  was  never  anticipated,  about  the 
gallery  of  the  Chapel,  and  finally,  while  other 
reasons  conspired,  it  was  seen  that  the  increasing 
demands  of  Physical  Science  required  that  the 
whole  of  that  building,  the  Conference  Room 
excepted,  should  be  given  up  for  its  illustration 
and  cultivation.  In  thus  deciding  we  have  not  felt 
that  it  would  be  turned  aside  from  the  general  pur- 
pose for  which  it  was  erected,  and  we  would  now 
use  the  language  of  Dr.  Griffin,  respecting  it,  and 
say,  "  Let  it  be  devoted  to  science  as  subservient  to 
the  Redeemer's  kingdom." 

This  having  been  decided,  through  the  zeal  and 


23 


generosity,  and,  in  many  cases,  I  may  say,  the 
self-denial  of  the  Alumni  and  other  Friends  of  the 
College,  this  building  arose.  We  are  thankful  for 
it,  and  for  all  there  is  in  connection  with  it  of 
architecture  and  of  beauty.  It  was  intended  to 
have  in  it,  and  we  think  we  have,  as  much  of  these 
as  our  means  would  allow.  Would  there  were 
more.  Because  nature  has  done  much  for  us,  we 
would  not  do  the  less.  We  would  rather  seek  to 
make  what  we  do,  respond  to  what  she  has  done. 
We  value  architecture  in  connection  with  educa- 
tion. We  would  invoke  the  spirit  of  beauty  in 
its  every  form.  We  think  of  that  spirit  as  worthy 
of  heaven  ;  we  believe  she  descended  thence ;  but 
we  remember  that  she  has  also  been  thrust  down 
and  debased  even  to  hell.  We  simply  wish  to  give 
everything  its  place.  We  do  not  think  of  archi- 
tecture as  a  means,  or  direct  aid  of  worship  ;  nor 
of  the  spirit  of  beauty  as  the  Spirit  of  God. 

From  the  form  of  this  building  its  parts  have  a 
relation  that  may  be  said  to  symbolize,  not  inaptly, 
the  proper  relation  of  ideas  and  ends  in  a  College. 
In  front,  prominent  and  beautiful,  is  the  Chapel, 
which  represents  the  great  ideas  of  religious  in- 
struction and  worship.  Separate  from  this,  yet 
connected  by  the  tower  and  spire,  heaven-ward 
pointing  for  both,  are  the  rooms  for  the  instruction 
of  the  two  upper  classes  ;  and  over  these,  united 
with  each  and  all,  is  the  Alumni  Hall.  So,  through 
worship  and  instruction,  religious  and  secular,  but 
both  pointing  to  heaven,  would  we  raise  our  Alumni 
to  their  own  place,  and  send  them  thence  into  the 
world. 


24 

Of  this  whole  building  it  may  be  said  literally, 
that  it  is  founded  upon  a  Rock  ;  for  there  was  not 
a  stone  in  its  foundation,  that  did  not  reach  the 
rock.  In  this  respect,  we  trust  and  believe,  that  it 
is  a  symbol  of  the  Institution  itself.  So  the  prov- 
idence of  God  would  seem  to  indicate,  for  the  rains 
have  descended,  and  the  winds  have  blown,  and 
beat  upon  it,  but  it  still  stands  firmer  than  ever. 
And  if  those  who  shall  control  it  shall  but  order  it 
in  accordance  with  the  purposes  of  God,  if  they 
shall  respect  the  great  laws  and  wants  of  mind,  as 
modified  by  the  changes  of  society,  we  know  that 
it  shall  be  founded  upon  a  rock,  and  shall  not  fall. 
So  may  it  be.  To  this  beautiful  valley  may  young 
men,  ingenuous  and  aspiring,  continue  to  come. 
Here  may  there  be  known  those  joys  of  a  student's 
life  that  leave  no  sting,  and  no  stain.  Here  may 
health  mantle  the  cheek ;  here  strength  and  beauty 
blend  in  the  character.  Here,  O  here,  may  the 
Spirit  of  God  descend,  and  the  Saviour  be  found, 
and  the  love  of  self  be  overmastered,  and  Chris- 
tians learn  to  "  stand  up  for  Jesus,"  and  to  stand 
by  each  other.  Hence  may  all  go  forth  well 
equipped  for  service  in  life ;  and  especially,  as 
heretofore,  may  they  go,  whose  "  feet  shall  be 
beautiful  upon  the  mountains"  of  heathendom, 
who  shall  "  publish  salvation." 


FRUIT     I  3NT      OLD      .A.  C3-  E 


DISCOURSE, 


COMMEMORATIVE   OF 


NATHAN     JACKSON 


DELIVERED    BY    REQUEST    OF    THE     STUDENTS, 


CHAPEL  OF  WILLIAMS   COLLEGE 


MAY    17,    18  63 


BY 

MARK  HOPKINS,  D.D. 

President  of  the  College. 


BOSTON: 

PRESS  OF  T.  R.  MARVIN  &   SON,   42  CONGRESS  STREET. 
1863. 


DISCOURSE. 


PSALM  xcn.  14. 

THEY    SHALL    STILL    BEING    FORTH    FRUIT    IN    OLD    AGE. 

In  the  passage  now  read,  man  is  compared  to  a 
fruit-bearing  tree  ;  and  what  it  is  for  him  to  bear 
fruit  will  be  seen  from  the  analogy  here  implied. 
A  tree  has  two  products  —  the  leaves  and  the 
fruit ;  but  these  are  of  a  different  order,  and  stand 
in  relations  entirely  different.  The  leaves  are  for 
the  sake  of  the  tree.  They  are  its  lungs.  They 
absorb  nutriment  from  the  air  ;  they  draw  up  and 
elaborate  its  juices,  and  prepare  the  materials  for 
its  growth.  But  the  fruit  is  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  tree.  It  is  wholly  a  gift  of  the  organization  to 
a  system  of  things  out  of  itself,  beyond  itself,  and 
having  no  relation  to  its  individual  well-being. 
The  object  and  end  of  the  leaves  is  the  well-being 
of  the  tree  ;  the  end  of  the  tree  itself,  individually, 
and  of  the  whole  species  as  fruit-bearing,  is  the 


fruit,  as  a  gift  for  the  use  of  systems  beyond 
itself. 

In  the  same  way,  there  are  two  forms  and  pro- 
ducts of  human  action.  There  are  those  which 
have  sole  relation  to  self,  as  self,  and  not  as  a  part 
of  the  general  system ;  and  there  are  those  which 
have  relation  to  a  system  entirely  out  of  and  be- 
yond self.  To  his  own  well-being  every  man  must 
have  some  regard,  were  it  only  that  he  may  do 
good  to  others ;  but  this  regard  and  its  results  are 
not  so  much  fruit-bearing,  as  a  preparation  for 
that ;  and  if,  as  is  often  the  case,  the  regards  of  a 
man  do  not  extend  beyond  himself,  he  does  not 
bear  fruit  at  all.  He  is,  according  to  the  Scrip- 
tures, "  an  empty  vine ;  he  bringeth  forth  fruit 
unto  himself." 

That  a  man  should  bear  fruit  implies,  then, 
that  he  should  do  something  freely,  intentionally, 
wholly,  for  the  good,  the  enlightenment,  the  eleva- 
tion of  others.  He  who  does  this,  bears  fruit  in 
the  sense  of  the  Scriptures ;  he  who  does  not  do 
this,  does  not  bear  fruit. 

This  distinction  between  the  fruit  and  the  leaves 
as  of  a  different  order,  and  so  between  the  different 
kinds  of  action  they  represent,  was  expressly  rec- 
ognized and  signalized  by  our  Saviour  in  that  act 
of  his,  so  striking  and  significant,  of  cursing  the 


barren  fig-tree.  That  bore  leaves  only.  That  it 
bore  leaves,  was  no  objection  to  it.  It  was  made 
for  that.  But  it  bore  leaves  only.  It  lived  to 
itself,  and  so  was  cursed  and  withered  away.  In 
this  act  of  our  Saviour  towards  a  thing  uncon- 
scious and  irresponsible,  there  was  nothing  sple- 
netic or  capricious;  but' he  taught  the  universal 
and  solemn  lesson,  that  that  thing  or  being  in 
God's  universe  that  does  not  bear  fruit,  that  is, 
does  not  answer  the  end  for  which  it  was  made,  is 
accursed,  and  fit  only  to  be  destroyed. 

Having  thus  seen  what  it  is  for  a  man  to  bear 
fruit,  we  next  inquire  who  they  are  that  do  this. 
These,  we  are  told  in  the  context,  are  the  right- 
eous. The  object  of  this  Psalm  is  to  contrast  the 
righteous  and  the  wicked,  and  the  dealings  of  God 
with  them,  that  his  character  as  a  righteous  Moral 
Governor  may  be  vindicated.  The  wicked,  we  are 
told,  do  not  recognize  God  as  he  is  manifested  in 
his  works,  and  do  not  study  or  regard  his  thoughts 
and  purposes.  "  O  Lord,"  says  the  Psalmist,  "  how 
great  are  thy  works  !  and  thy  thoughts  are  very 
deep."  But  he  adds,  "  A  brutish  man  knoweth 
not,  neither  doth  a  fool  understand  this."  "  A 
brutish  man"  and  "a  fool"!  What  terms  could 
better  designate  one  so  absorbed  in  his  own  selfish 
ends  as  to  have  no  apprehension  of  this  glorious 


universe  in  the  midst  of  which  he  is  placed,  or  of 
those  great  ends  and  purposes  which  God  pro- 
poses 1  Instead  of  apprehending  the  works  and 
the  thoughts  of  God,  and  thus  becoming  a  part  of 
his  holy  and  imperishable  kingdom,  the  wicked 
live  like  the  brutes,  and  like  the  brutes  they  die. 
"  When  the  wicked  spring  as  the  grass,  and  when 
all  the  workers  of  iniquity  do  flourish,  it  is  that 
they  shall  be  destroyed  forever."  "  But  the  right- 
eous shall  flourish  like  the  palm-tree ;  he  shall 
grow  like  the  cedar  of  Lebanon.  Those  that  be 
planted  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  shall  flourish  in 
the  courts  of  our  God ;  they  shall  still  bring  forth 
fruit  in  old  age  ;  they  shall  be  fat  and  flourishing  ; 
to  show  that  the  Lord  is  upright :  he  is  my  rock, 
and  there  is  no  unrighteousness  in  him." 

Not  only,  then,  do  the  righteous  bring  forth 
fruit,  they  also,  and  which  is  the  specific  point 
here  noticed,  bring  forth  fruit  in  old  age.  In  this 
they  are  contrasted,  not  only  with  the  wicked,  who 
do  not  bring  forth  fruit  at  all,  but  even  with  the 
tree ;  for  while  the  tree  bears  fruit  when  we  call  it 
old,  yet  in  what  is  really  the  old  age  of  the  tree, 
its  powers  become  enfeebled,  and  it  is  not  equal 
to  the  effort  of  fruit-bearing.  Then,  with  vessels 
rigid,  and  trunk  decaying,  and  branches  withered 
and  dry,  and  leaves  sparse,  it  simply  struggles  for 


a  weary  time  to  sustain  its  own  life.  So  is  it  with 
every  thing  that  runs  the  circuit  of  what  is  called 
nature,  and  has  not  beneath  it  the  undecaying 
strength  of  God,  and  in  it  the  power  of  an  eternal 
life.  Having  beneath  them  this  strength,  and  in 
them  this  power,  the  righteous  are  an  exception  to 
all  other  beings  and  things  on  the  earth.  They 
are  the  one  great  exception.  "  Even  the  youths 
shall  faint  and  be  weary,  and  the  young  men  shall 
utterly  fall,  but  they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall 
renew  their  strength ;  they  shall  mount  up  with 
wings  as  eagles ;  they  shall  run,  and  not  be  weary; 
and  they  shall  walk,  and  not  faint." 

Regarded  solely  as  a  product  of  nature,  man, 
like  other  beings,  has  his  periods  of  development 
and  of  decay.  Of  these,  each  has  its  own  charac- 
teristics, and  they  have  been  carefully  noticed  by 
dramatists  and  essay  writers.  For  the  purpose  of 
poetical  description,  rather  than  from  any  accurate 
line  of  division,  Shakespeare  divided  the  life  of 
man  into  seven  stages  or  acts.  The  more  common 
and  accurate  division  is  into  childhood,  youth,  man- 
hood, and  old  age.  When  man  is  left  to  himself, 
the  ruling  passion  commonly  assigned  to  him  in 
youth  is  that  of  pleasure  ;  in  manhood,  of  ambition  ; 
and  in  old  age,  of  avarice.  This  will  do  for  a  clas- 
sification, but  the  exceptions  are  numerous.     Still, 


8 

each  has  his  cycle,  till  we  come  to  him  who  is  really 
linked  by  faith  to  an  eternal  world,  and  so  comes 
under  "  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come."  He  is 
in  a  measure  taken  out  from  the  influence  of  these 
natural  cycles,  and  will  move  on  not  only  in  the 
formation  of  character,  but  in  its  mode  of  expres- 
sion, in  one  line.  Hence,  having  begun  to  bear 
fruit,  he  will  continue  to  bear  it.  He  will  bear  it 
in  old  age.  So  long  as  his  faculties  remain,  they 
will  work  under  this  law.  Instead  of  moving  ac- 
cording to  any  routine,  and  completing  a  circuit, 
and  being  subject  to  the  law  of  habit,  the  faculties 
will  work  according  to  a  free  principle  that  shall 
be  always  ready  to  adapt  itself  to  new  circum- 
stances, to  avail  itself  of  new  possible  combinations, 
to  appreciate,  to  enter  into  the  possession  of,  and 
to  enjoy  all  new  discoveries  in  science,  or  inven- 
tions in  art,  or  opportunities  of  usefulness,  or  vistas 
newly  opening  in  the  developments  of  divine  Prov- 
idence. For  a  man  thus  to  keep  himself  free  from 
incrustations,  and  from  the  contractedness  so  often 
caused  by  routine,  and  by  the  numberless  petti- 
nesses of  human  life,  and,  though  the  outward  man 
may  perish,  to  have  the  inward  man  renewed  in  its 
original  freshness  and  capacity  for  'action,  day  by 
day,  is  a  great  thing.  Only  thus  can  man  assert 
his  prerogative  as  having  in  him  something  higher 


9 

than  nature.  Within  her  domain,  whatever 
draughts  a  man  may  take,  he  shall  thirst  again  ; 
but  he  who  drinks  of  the  water  that  Christ  gives, 
shall  never  thirst,  but  the  water  that  he  giveth 
shall  be  in  him  a  well  of  water  springing  up  unto 
everlasting  life. 

Of  this  fruit-bearing  in  old  age  we  have  an 
eminent  example  in  a  prominent  benefactor  of 
this  College,  recently  departed.  It  was  not  till 
Mr.  Jackson  had  reached  the  bound  allotted  by 
the  Psalmist  to  human  life,  of  threescore  years  and 
ten,  and  had  passed  five  years  beyond,  that  he 
made  his  first  donation  to  this  College ;  and  so  far 
as  I  know,  the  first  that  required  public  notice, 
or  that  would,  if  known,  have  been  likely  to  cause 
special  remark.  This  donation  consisted  of  three 
thousand  five  hundred  dollars,*  and  was  given,  not 
directly  to  the  College,  but  to  a  Society  always 
fostered  by  it,  as  furnishing  facilities  and  a  disci- 
pline in  the  study  of  Natural  History  that  could 
be  gained  in  no  other  way.  When  young  men 
have  their  own  organization,  write  their  own 
papers,  carry  on  their  own  discussions,  describe 
their  own  specimens,  and  originate  their  own  ex- 
peditions, their  knowledge  becomes  incorporated 
into  them,  it  becomes  practical ;  and  by  doing  what 

*  The  whole  amount  given  for  Jackson  Hall  was  between  four  and  five  thousand 

dollars. 


10 

he  did,  Mr.  Jackson  gave  an  impulse  to  this 
system  that  will  be  felt  while  the  Institution  shall 
stand.  This  donation  was  made  from  no  besetment, 
or  pressure  of  solicitation,  but  from  simply  read- 
ing a  circular  prepared  by  his  grand-nephew,  Mr. 
Orton. 

If  this  donation  had  stood  alone,  it  would  not 
have  been  so  remarkable.  It  might  have  been  im- 
puted to  a  momentary  impulse,  or  caprice,  or  to 
vanity ;  but,  taken  in  connection  with  what  follow- 
ed, it  is  clear  that  it  sprang  from  a  principle  vital 
in  him,  and  that  his  main  motive  was  that  assigned 
by  him  in  his  communication  to  the  Trustees.  "  I 
esteem  it,"  says  he,  "  a  privilege,  as  well  as  a  duty, 
to  devote  a  portion  of  the  means  wherewith  a 
beneficent  Providence  has  helped  me,  to  the  en- 
couragement and  promotion  of  science  in  connec- 
tion with  an  Institution  under  sound  moral  and 
religious  influence,  as  I  believe  Williams  College 
to  be,  under  the  profound  conviction  that  knowl- 
edge obtained  and  accompanied  by  such  influence,  is 
to  be  the  future  safe-guard  of  our  free  institutions." 
This  was  his  great  motive.  The  particular  direction 
of  his  bounty  was  determined  by  his  family  con- 
nection with  the  Founder  of  the  College,  and  by 
his  birth  and  early  associations  in  this  County. 

In   accordance   with   the   principle   thus   acting, 


11 

and  the  motive  thus  stated,  three  years  afterwards 
Mr.  Jackson  gave  the  College  twenty  thousand 
dollars  more.  Of  this,  six  thousand  dollars  were 
given  for  the  purchase  of  a  house  and  grounds  for 
the  President,  which  he  thought  would  be  more  suit- 
able than  those  then  occupied,  and  on  condition  that 
the  rest  of  the  purchase  money  should  be  made  up. 
The  remaining  fourteen  thousand  dollars  were 
for  the  support  of  a  Professorship  of  Christian 
Theology,  and  also  to  pay  the  bills  of  the  sons 
of  missionaries.  This  last  provision  was  most 
appropriate.  It  was  fitting  that  here,  where  the 
first  foreign  missions  from  this  continent  origi- 
nated, there  should  be  provision, — would  it  were 
ampler, — for  the  sons  of  those  who  devote  them- 
selves to  this  grand  and  self-sacrificing  work,  and 
that  thus  the  cause  itself  might  receive  strength 
whenever  in  the  current  and  phases  of  its  circling 
influences  it  should  touch  the  spot  of  its  origin. 

The  idea  of  purchasing  the  house  and  grounds 
was  original  with  Mr.  Jackson,  and  in  view  of  the 
future  of  the  College,  showed  his  sagacity.  So  too 
the  idea  of  devoting  money  to  instruction  in  Chris- 
tian Theology  was  wholly  his  own,  and  he  adhered 
to  it  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  some  of  the 
friends  of  the  College.  His  impression  was,  that 
a  modified  course  of  instruction  in  Theology  might 


u 


be  given  here  with  advantage.  He  thought  that 
a  course  wholly  in  the  Seminary  made  men  too 
professional  and  technical,  with  less  sympathy  for 
the  people  and  their  ways,  and  less  power  over 
them,  than  those  who  were  trained  as  formerly,  by 
studying  with  pastors.  Whether  he  was  right  in 
this,  and  if  so  what  would  be  the  appropriate 
remedy,  this  is  not  the  time  or  the  place  to  discuss. 
The  final  arrangement  was,  that  till  further  pro- 
vision should  be  made,  the  President,  who,  it  was 
his  wish  should  act  as  the  Professor,  should  give 
to  those  who  might  wish  it,  such  instruction  as  he 
could  in  compatibility  with  his  other  duties. 

Besides  this,  Mr.  Jackson  gave  the  College  two 
thousand  dollars  to  provide  for  an  annual  celebra- 
tion of  the  birth-day  of  Colonel  Williams.  This 
was  not  merely  because  Colonel  Williams  was  the 
Founder  of  the  Institution,  but  because  he  gave  his 
life  for  his  country  in  that  great  struggle  which 
determined  the  fate  of  Protestantism  and  of  freedom 
on  this  Continent.  For  a  time,  and  on  certain 
conditions,  a  portion  of  the  income  of  this  money 
was  to  be  given  to  the  Natural  History  Society. 

This,  besides  some  minor  gifts  showing  a  watch- 
ful eye  and  continual  interest  in  the  College,  is 
what  he  did.  He  purposed  to  do  more.  He  had, 
at  his  own  expense,  procured  the  plan  of  a  Gymna- 


13 

sium,  of  which  he  had  offered  to  bear  one-fourth 
of  the  expense  ;  and  he  had  stated  publicly  his 
intention  of  leaving  something  for  the  enlargement 
of  Jackson  Hall. 

Nor  did  Mr.  Jackson  confine  his  benefactions  to 
this  College.  He  aided  liberally  in  the  establish- 
ment of  a  Library  in  Stockbridge,  and  was  pro- 
posing, at  the  time  he  was  taken  sick,  to  give 
largely  for  the  endowment  of  the  Academy  there. 

Now,  that  a  man  whose  opportunities  for  educa- 
tion were  but  limited,  the  earlier  part  of  whose  life 
was  a  struggle  with  difficulties,  who  had  several 
children  to  provide  for,  and  whose  property  was 
never  large  —  that  is,  large  for  a  city  —  that  such 
a  man  should  thus  apprehend  justly  the  wants  of 
the  country  and  of  the  race,  and  should  thus  devise 
liberal  things,  would  be  extraordinary  at  any 
period  of  his  life.  But  I  lay  my  finger  on  the  fact 
that  all  this  was  the  fruit  of  his  old  age.  This 
seems  to  me  the  extraordinary  thing  about  it.  It 
was  done  by  a  man  past  seventy-five  years  of  age, 
who  had  not  previously  given  at  all  on  such  a 
scale.  Of  such  giving  at  such  a  period,  cheerful, 
considerate,  judicious,  the  fruits  of  which  were 
seen  and  rejoiced  in  so  as  to  shed  a  sunshine  over 
life,  I  know  of  no  example.  I  have  never  heard 
or  read  of  one.     True,  it  might  be  supposed  that 


14 


as  man  should  approach  the  end  of  life,  he  would 
cling  less  closely  both  to  life  itself,  and  to  its  pos- 
sessions. But  experience  does  not  teach  thus.  On 
the  contrary,  and  as  might,  indeed,  be  anticipated 
from  the  law  of  habit,  the  grasp  of  the  miser  upon 
his  wealth  grows  but  the  tighter  as  age  increases, 
and  every  habit  tends  to  confirm  itself.  Naturally, 
the  aged  man  not  only  does  not  go  beyond  his 
accustomed  circuits,  and  find  enlargement,  but 
those  circuits  grow  narrower ;  he  has  less  and  less 
interest  in  the  external  and  the  distant;  he  does 
what  he  has  been  accustomed  to  do,  only  with  less 
force,  till  death  comes.  Not  so  with  Mr.  Jackson. 
That  law  of  habit,  seeming  hitherto  as  inevitable 
as  death,  by  which  the  old  man  not  accustomed  to 
give  largely,  becomes,  if  not  avaricious,  yet  timid 
and  cautious,  and  clings  to  his  money,  failed  to 
bind  him.  Instead  of  being  narrowed  and  chilled, 
his  sympathies  were  widened  by  age.  Never  did 
he  manifest  a  deeper,  or  more  intelligent,  or  more 
gratified  interest  in  all  that  was  passing  here,  than 
at  the  last  Commencement ;  and  of  his  party,  who 
went  from  here  on  a  pleasure  excursion  to  Lake 
George,  and  some  of  whom  were  his  grandchildren, 
not  one  was  more  prompt,  or  .energetic,  or  looked 
forward  to  its  enjoyment  with  a  keener  zest.  With 
the     exception    of   some    defect    of   hearing,    the 


15 

responses  in  him  to  impressions  from  the  outward 
world  were  quick  and  accurate,  and  his  strength 
was  firm.  This  must  have  been  from  a  physical 
organization  originally  happy,  and  from  a  tem- 
perate life.  His  affections  also,  as  I  should  judge, 
were  uncommonly  kindly  and  social,  and  put  him 
in  ready  sympathy  with  the  young.  But  more 
than  all  this  is  needed  to  account  for  the  enlarge- 
ment and  liberality  of  which  I  have  spoken. 

Hence  I  observe  again,  that  Mr.  Jackson  brought 
forth  fruit  in  old  age  as  a  Christian  man,  recog- 
nizing his  relations  to  God  and  to  those  great 
spiritual  interests  which  are  eternal. 

On  this  point  I  am  not  so  well  prepared  to 
speak  as  some  others,  but  can  truly  say  that  the 
more  I  knew  of  him,  and  not  on  this  point  only, 
the  more  my  respect  and  regard  for  him  increased. 
I  knew  he  had  long  been  a  professor  of  religion  in 
the  Dutch  Church,  but  it  was  not  till  I  heard  him 
read  the  Scriptures  in  his  own  family  in  the  most 
reverent  manner,  and  pray  with  a  solemnity  and 
fervor  which  showed  that  God  and  eternity  were 
to  him  great  realities,  and  heard  him  say  with  a 
child-like  humility  that  God  had  greatly  blessed 
him,  both  in  temporal  and  in  spiritual  things,  that 
I  understood  how  deep  the  springs  were  from 
which  his  bounty  wras  an  out-flow.    The  sympathies 


16 


of  God  never  decay,  and  whoever  keeps  himself  in 
sympathy  with  him  will  be  in  sympathy  with  all 
the  good,  the  enlightenment,  the  blessing  that  God 
would  accomplish  in  this  world,  and  must  seek  to 
aid  in  it.  This,  Mr.  Jackson  did.  In  the  use  of 
his  property  he  adopted  the  principle  of  steward- 
ship, which  applies  to  age  and  Jo  youth  alike,  and 
from  a  regard  to  which,  as  I  doubt  not,  sprung  his 
chief  motive  in  doing  what  he  did. 

But  a  disposition  to  give,  and  even  a  principle 
of  giving,  avails  nothing  without  the  means  ;  and 
I  observe  again,  that  Mr.  Jackson  brought  forth 
fruit  in  old  age  by  adhering,  after  he  had  attained 
property,  to  that  simple  and  unostentatious  life  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed.  In  every  thing 
that  pertained  to  the  necessaries  and  comforts  of 
life,  he  was  free  —  entirely  removed  from  any  thing 
like  parsimony ;  but  he  adhered  from  principle  to 
the  simplicity  of  his  original  habits  and  tastes,  and 
spent  comparatively  little  upon  himself.  This,  and 
not  alone  his  acquisition  of  property,  was  the 
turning-point  in  respect  to  his  ability  to  give. 

At  this  point  there  is  a  marked  dividing  line 
between  men  who  gain  property.  Many  who  gain 
it,  and  do  not  go  on  in  a  mere  process  of  accumu- 
lating, enter,  if  not  from  their  own  tastes,  from 
those  of  their  families,  upon  a  course  of  expense 


17 

required  by  the  demands  of  fashionable  life. 
Their  lives  are  governed,  or  come  to  be,  by  a 
reference  to  the  opinion  of  fashionable  circles, 
and  their  standing  with  them.  This  draws  them 
as  into  a  maelstrom ;  it  opens  a  gulf  that  is 
bottomless.  Thenceforward  giving  will  be  but  the 
crumbs  that  fall  from  their  table — it  will  be  slight 
and  incidental.  The  man  says  he  cannot  give,  and, 
if  he  is  to  run  the  race  of  pleasurable  and  fashiona- 
ble life,  he  cannot.  The  cry  of  the  horse-leech  that 
is  fastened  on  him  saying,  Give,  give,  will  drown  all 
other  cries.  At  this  point  every  man  must  judge 
for  himself.  Something  is  due  to  position  and  a 
regard  for  appearances,  but  the  great  weakness  of 
the  times  is  a  readiness  to  yield  personal  independ- 
ence, and  principle,  and  the  power  of  beneficence, 
to  a  love  of  show ;  to  the  heartless,  and,  if  your 
money  fail,  the  contemptuous  and  derisive  goddess 
of  .fashion ;  to  the  opinion  of  classes  and  sets 
whose  standards  are  merely  conventional,  and 
false,  and  who  would  be  scarcely  missed  in  the 
great  movements  of  benevolence  and  of  progress, 
if  the  whole  of  them  were  to  be  swept  away,  like 
a  swarm  of  insects,  in  a  moment.  The  great  want 
of  the  times  is  men,  independent  men  in  sympathy 
with  God,  and  acting  from  principle  as  his 
stewards.     Hitherto,  plain  living  and  high  acting, 


18 

certainly  action  of  the  highest  order,  have  gone 
together.  No  doubt  they  always  will.  How  easy 
would  it  have  been  for  Mr.  Jackson  to  spend  upon 
horses  and  carriages,  upon  a  house  and  furniture, 
the  money  he  gave  here.  But  he  chose  rather  to 
give  impulse  to  thought  and  right  training,  to  lay 
the  foundation  of  an  influence  that  shall  be  per- 
petual, to  act  from  conscience  and  the  affections 
rather  than  from  vanity,  or  for  any  selfish  gratifica- 
tion. In  all  this,  Mr.  Jackson  was  a  true  man, 
simple,  natural,  showing  strong  sense,  and  bringing 
forth  fruit. 

Once  more,  Mr.  Jackson  brought  forth  fruit  in 
old  age  in  his  patriotism.  He  belonged  to  a  race 
of  men  now  fast  passing  away,  who  were  born 
during  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  whose  blood 
was  stirred  by  the  personal  narratives  of  those  who 
took  part  in  that  conflict,  and  all  whose  associa- 
tions and  hopes  clustered  around  the  flag  of  their 
country.  For  that  flag  his  attachment  was  some- 
thing like  a  passion.  Early  on  coming  here,  and 
before  there  was  the  thought  of  war,  he  procured 
a  large  and  expensive  flag  for  the  College,  that  it 
might  be  displayed  on  the  Fourth  of  July  and  at 
patriotic  celebrations  ;  and,  in  accordance  with  his 
desire,  it  has  always  decorated  the  room  at  the 
celebration  of  Williams's  birth-dav.     Earlv  in  the 


19 

war,  when  a  Massachusetts  regiment  marched 
through  New  York,  he  marched  with  them  to  the 
Astor  House,  and  carried  the  flag.  It  is  among 
the  more  touching  incidents  of  the  war,  that  an  old 
man  like  him,  of  more  than  fourscore  years,  should 
claim  to  come  in  among  the  soldiers  of  his  native 
State,  and  carry  the  dear  old  flag  through  the 
streets  of  that  city.  He  provided  for  the  soldiers, 
at  one  time,  I  think,  giving  a  breakfast  to  a  whole 
regiment.  He  made  speeches  to  them.  He  had 
numerous  relatives  in  the  army,  for  several  of 
whom  he  provided  outfits,  and  his  expenditure  in 
connection  with  voluntary  offerings  of  this  kind, 
was  several  thousand  dollars.  With  him  all  this 
was  as  natural  as  his  breathing,  for  patriotism  was 
a  part  of  his  being.  With  the  rebellion  he  had  no 
patience ;  he  had  no  tolerance  for  it ;  and  never 
had  a  thought  of  any  thing  but  that  it  was  to  be 
crushed,  and  that  the  old  flag  was  to  wave  again 
over  the  whole  country.  With  a  spirit  like  his 
pervading  the  North,  such  a  result  would  be  speed- 
ily realized. 

Thus  did  Mr.  Jackson,  during  the  period  of  his 
relation  to  us,  and  in  his  old  age,  bring  forth  fruit  ; 
and  it  was  fruit  that  will  remain. 

Of  the  early,  and  maturer  life  of  Mr.  Jackson,  I 
have  said  nothing,  because  he  was  not  known  by 


20 

me  till  after  his  first  donation  here,  and  because  I 
know  nothing  that  has  not  been  already  stated  in 
the  College  Quarterly.  As  linking  him  with  us, 
it  is  important  only  to  state  here,  that  he  was  born 
in  this  County,  in  what  was  then  the  town  of 
Tyringham,  now  Monterey ;  that  the  mother  of 
Ephraim  Williams  was  a  Jackson,  and  his  great 
aunt ;  and  that  Ephraim  Williams  received  his 
education  in  the  family  of  his  grandfather  Jackson. 
The  final  sickness  of  Mr.  Jackson  was  brief. 
He  became  ill  on  Friday,  and  died  the  following 
Tuesday.  He  was  conscious  till  the  last,  and  died 
peacefully,  trusting  in  God. 

Thus  has  God  given,  and  taken  away,  the  second 
great  benefactor  of  this  Institution.  We  are  grate- 
ful to  the  immediate  giver.  His  name  will  always 
be  held  in  honor  here.  But  we  would  recognize 
God  in  all.  We  would  remember  that  it  is  from 
him  that  every  good  and  perfect  gift  cometh  down, 
and  would  thank  him  for  the  increased  means  of 
usefulness  possessed  by  the  College  through  these 
gifts. 

Like  Mr.  Lawrence,  Mr.  Jackson  gave  in  his 
life-time.  He  had  the  strength  to  part  with  money 
in  large  sums ;  and  how  extraordinary  I  regard 
this  at  his  age,  and  in  his  circumstances,  I  have 


21 

already  stated.     He  opened  the  spring  and  cut  the 
channels,  in  which  the  waters  of  his  beneficence 
were  to  flow,  with  his  own  hand,  and  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  those  waters  enter  upon  their  glad 
and  lengthening  way.     That  this  is  often,  perhaps 
generally,  the  best  mode  of  giving,  there  can  be  no 
doubt.     There  is  need  of  men  who  can  give  thus. 
They  are  indispensable  to  our  Colleges,  or  to  the 
most  of  them,  and  will  be  for  some  time  yet.    With 
us,    other   branches    besides    Natural    History,    as 
Physical  Education,  and  Modern  Languages,  need 
to  be  fostered  and  endowed.     Men  who  give  thus, 
work  in  accordance  with  a  great  analogy  set  before 
them  by  God.     In  gathering  and  distributing  water 
to  meet  the  wants  of  the  earth  and  of  man,  God 
has  two  methods.     In  his  widest  method,  he  draws 
up  the  water,  little  by  little,  from  a  broad  surface, 
that  he  may  give  it  again  in  dew  and  in  showers. 
He  takes  it,  indeed,  chiefly  from  the  ocean,  where 
it  is  not  needed  ;  but  he  takes  its  fair  proportion, 
also,  from  every  lake,  and   pool,  and  moist   spot. 
Every  part  of  the  earth  is   made  to  contribute  to 
the  rain  and  the  dew.     And   so   God  needs   men 
who  will  contribute  freely  to  sustain  the  current 
charities  of  the   day  —  those  which   are  gathered 
and  dispensed  like  the  clouds.     These  are  a  system 
by  themselves,  and  are  best  sustained  by  the  whole 
people.      We   all   need    them  for   our   own   moral 


22 

growth — to  keep  us  in  vital  connection  with  some- 
thing higher  than  those  sordid  pursuits  to  which 
men  gravitate  ;  and  the  wider  and  more  even  the 
surface  from  which  these  charities  come,  the  more 
healthful  they  are,  and  the  more  likely  to  be 
efficient.  No  one  of  these  could  he  sustained  by  a 
few;  and  if  it  could,  it  would  be  to  the  general  loss. 
But  water  is  also  gathered  in  fountains,  and  wells, 
and  reservoirs,  for  supplying  the  more  immediate 
wants  of  man ;  and  he  who  digs  a  well,  as  Jacob 
did,  where  the  people  may  come  a  thousand  years 
afterwards,  like  the  woman  of  Samaria,  and  draw, 
and  remember  that  it  was  their  father  Jacob  who 
gave  them  the  well,  does  a  very  different  and  more 
permanent,  and  in  many  respects  a  nobler  work, 
than  he  who  simply  contributes  to  the  rain  and 
the  dew — to  the  passing  wants  of  society.  Now, 
Mr.  Jackson  dug  a  well  —  one  like  those  in  the 
East,  to  which  men  gather  from  far,  that  they  may 
drink.  This  is  a  great  work  ;  it  is  not  every  man 
who  can  do  it;  and  we  need  men  who  can  and  will 
dig  wells  where  they  are  needed.  This  they  may 
provide  for,  and  leave  to  others  to  do,  but  they  lose 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  and  enjoying  their  own 
work ;  they  lose  the  benefit  of  it  in  their  own 
moral  improvement,  and  in  the  sympathy  and 
kindness  and  honor  that  are  drawn  out  from 
others. 


23 

We  now  turn  from  what  has  heen  done  by  Mr. 
Jackson,  to  ourselves  and  its  relation  to  us  as  con- 
nected with  this  College.    What  he  did  had  respect 
to  the  future.     There  is  no   good  man  who  does 
not  hope  the  time   is  coming  when  the  world  will 
be  better  than  it  is  now,  and  who  docs  not  wish 
to  do  something  to  make  it  so.     His  life  would  be 
an  impertinence,  and  an  insufferable  weariness,  if 
he  could  suppose  he  was  only  turning  a  tread-mill. 
But  in   this,  his   hope  rests,  not  on   those  whose 
characters  are  formed,  and  who  are  passing  off  the 
stage,  but  on  the  young ;  and  the  problem  is  to 
know  what  can  be  done  for  them.     We  are  willing 
to  give  money  and  labor,  but  the   question  is  how 
these  can  be  so  applied  as  to  secure  the  result.     In 
answer   to  this  we  have  the   different  theories  of 
education.     Among  these,  however,  two  things  are 
in   common.     One  is,  that  the  means  of  the  best 
intellectual  culture  are  to  be  furnished  as  widely 
as  possible ;  and  the  other,  that  we  must  have  the 
co-operation  of  the  young. 

This  is  the  theory  of  our  Colleges.  Of  these,  the 
last — the  co-operation  of  the  young — is  the  most 
important.  We  may,  we  do,  need  at  some  points 
more  and  better  means^  but  that  is  not  the  greatest 
difficulty.  Why,  my  Friends,  all  these  buildings 
are  for  you.     This  apparatus,  and  these  libraries 


24 

are  for  you  ;  these  instructors  are  here  for  you. 
The  munificence  of  individuals  and  of  the  State  is 
for  you.  For  you  the  Trustees  consult  and  pro- 
vide, and  their  desire  is  that  every  thing  here  may 
be  so  for  your  use  and  at  your  disposal  as  to  make 
you  the  best  generation  of  students  and  of  men 
that  has  yet  lived.  Why  should  you  not  be  %  Why 
should  you  not,  in  accordance  with  the  whole 
theory  of  our  government,  so  put  yourselves  into 
intelligent  and  voluntary  co-operation  with  what 
others  are  doing  and  praying  for,  as  to  give  you 
the  greatest  wisdom  for  self-direction,  and  the 
greatest  power  of  self-control  1  This  is  what  is 
most  needed.  It  is  an  independent,  manly,  faithful 
use  by  yourselves,  of  the  means  provided.  The 
turning  point  here  is  with  you.  When  the  ques- 
tions come,  as  practically  they  do  come  every  day, — 
What  indulgence  will  you  forego  1  What  evil  habit 
will  you  abandon  ?  What  unworthy  custom  that 
has  been  handed  down  will  you  suffer  to  sink  into 
oblivion  \  What  higher  ideal  of  manhood  will 
you  form  and  seek  to  approximate?  —  the  decision 
must  rest  with  vou,  and  on  this,  every  thinsr  will 
turn.  Without  a  high  and  true  manhood  in  you, 
there  must  be  failure.  No  implements  or  skill  can 
form  a  pillar  of  society  out  of  a  poor  stick.  But 
whatever  you  may  choose  to  do,  it  is  obvious  that 


25 


the  more  ample  the  means  are  that  are  provided, 
and  the  greater  the  generosity  and  the  self-sacrifice 
in  providing  them,  the  greater  must  be  the  shame, 
the  guilt,  the  deserved  scorn  and  condemnation, 
if  they  are  not  improved.  For  every  sacrifice 
that  has  been  made  for  us  here,  and  for  every 
means  and  privilege  offered,  we  shall  be  held  re- 
sponsible ;  and  I  put  it  to  you  as  from  the  faithful 
and  self-denying  men  who  have  labored  for  this 
College  and  given  to  it ;  I  put  it  to  you  as  from 
God  himself,  who  giveth  to  all,  and  watcheth  over 
all,  and  requireth  all,  whether  you  will  not  seek, 
with  a  spirit  of  hearty  co-operation,  to  do  your 
part  in  this  great  work. 

What  I  have  now  said  chiefly  respects  our  re- 
lations here,  and  as  scholars,  but  the  text  brings  to 
our  thoughts  a  wider  relation — it  is  that  of  fruit- 
bearing  wherever,  or  whatever  we  may  be,  in  this 
universe  of  God.  Not  every  man  is  required  to 
bear  fruit  by  bestowing  large  sums  of  money. 
There  are  few  who  can,  and  the  value  of  this, 
in  the  sight  of  God,  depends  on  the  disposition 
from  which  it  flows.  Let  those  who  can,  do  this  ; 
but  the  fruits  which  we  may  bear,  if  we  put  our- 
selves in  right  relations  to  God  and  our  fellow 
creatures,  are  very  various,  and  very  precious. 
They  are  all  those  clusters,  appropriate  to  every 


26 

period  of  life,  that  are  called  in  Scripture  "  the 
fruits  of  righteousness."  That  he  might  bear 
these,  man  was  made,  as  was  the  fruit-bearing  tree 
for  its  fruit.  Without  this  the  life  of  man  is  in 
vain,  and  towards  this  every  movement  and  process 
ought  to  tend.  If  we  take  the  fig-tree,  selected 
by  our  Saviour  as  a  type  of  its  class,  of  what  use 
is  it  if  it  does  not  bear  fruit  1  It  is  not  fit  for 
timber,  or  ornament,  or  shade.  It  cumbers  the 
ground,  and  the  voice  of  common  sense  approves 
and  echoes  the  sentence — cut  it  down.  So  a  man 
that  does  not  bear  fruit  cumbers  the  earth.  Fruit, 
fruit  is  what  is  needed.  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them."  "  Every  tree  that  bringeth  not  forth 
good  fruit,  is  hewn  down  and  cast  into  the  fire." 
You,  my  Friends,  are  planted  as  in  the  garden  of 
God.  What  fruit  will  you  bring  forth  ?  Will 
you  stand  barren  and  wait  for  the  axe  X  or  will 
you  bring  forth  fruits  meet  for  Him  by  whom  such 
a  garden  is  dressed  X  You  are  young.  Many  years 
may  be  before  you ;  I  know  not.  But  bring  forth 
fruits  of  righteousness  now,  and  you  shall  continue 
to  bear  them.  As  the  years  pass  they  shall  be 
more  golden  in  hue,  and  richer  in  flavor,  and  if 
God  spares  you,  you  too  "  shall  still  bring  forth 
fruit  in  old  age,"  you  shall  bring  it  forth  forever. 


